


back to the night we met.

by gavinsaleks (ohmaggies)



Series: thousand miles endlessly [1]
Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, Temporary Ghost Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:13:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14024889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmaggies/pseuds/gavinsaleks
Summary: two college dropouts turned amateur cameramen for a low budget ghost hunting show and their intern friend, a nineteen year old who can sense spirits, leave their jobs to travel halfway across the country. one of them dies tragically, and while one is more willing to move on because he believes in ghosts and believes he's near, the dead man's closest friend finds himself caught up in bringing him back.(or: aleks doesn't mean to fall in love, he just does.)-a my-best-friend-slash-the-man-i-love-died-so-now-i-have-to-resurrect-him fic.





	1. home.

**Author's Note:**

> so, here i am! no one asked for this, but here i am. heavily, heavily inspired by my jeremy/parker sp7 fic where jeremy brings parker back to life because i was going through old plot ideas i'd written down and this was there. a 2k chaptered outline later and this was born. altered it slightly for novahd because it was meant to be modesthd but... here we go. a sappy fic about falling in love with your best friend and realising too late. then, because it's aleks, finding a way to bring him back to life. 
> 
> (i was waiting to write the whole thing before posting, but this has been a 4 day project so far and i've been too :D ab getting this out so here's the first chapter! it's A Lot but I hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it  ♡. also probs like... typos. because i suck at rereading my own stuff and i Try my best but you know.. what can you do. (my tumblr is the same as my ao3 if that's ur thing too js ;) ty.))

* * *

 

 

 

_prelude._

 

Anna stops in the doorway on her way out, her fingers grasping onto the lower of his arm with pretty pink, painted nails, her hair falling soft around her shoulders. Says, “Trust me, I'm good with these kinds of things.” Then leans in, breath warm in the cold. “That boy you love? He's going to die.”

Her hand is soft, but she squeezes the flesh of his forearm and her ring presses in, digs like a reminder. Aleks can't exactly be sure what of, and he stares at her with his stray pieces of his hair falling about his face.

_That boy you love? He's going to die._

Three weeks later, he's standing in a morgue next to someone who's practically a stranger, Trevor sitting at home still seeing ghosts, and the boy Aleks loves is dead. So, Anna was right about that, but it doesn't help with how much it hurts.

“You ready to bring him back?” someone asks, and Aleks can tell he looks like a mess, can feel his eyes burn, can feel the old shirt of James’ he's wearing flutter around in the slight breeze.

“Do it.”

 

 

* * *

 

**i.**

_aleks._

 

**chapter one - 'home.’**

home / həʊm

noun

“the root of one's being, where you know you are safe.”

**_(_** example ** _:_** _James’ laughter drips out of his mouth, natural, and Aleks loves it, and him, and the warmth of it_. ** _)_**

 

.

 

_earlier - 2009._

When Aleks first meets James, he's tired and his hair is so long it's curling around his ears, brushing the back of his neck low. He's sixteen, posting articles on a random forum he found online about the supernatural, about ghosts and cryptids and things he finds interesting, and James goes by Nova. Aleks asks why, he says he doesn't know, and they talk until Aleks goes to bed at ten for school in the morning. When he wakes up the next morning, it's to three messages from James; one says, ‘tell me when you'll be here later, i want to ralk to you lol.’  

Aleks makes fun of his typo for three days, and James argues that it was three in the morning so he was tired and-  _yeah, right, james. let me make fun of you._

They're not sure what they're doing, between James having finished high school and living a while away from Aleks and planning to go to college, and Aleks being sixteen.  _Sixteen_. James says he's practically a baby, and Aleks laughs because he's still young and can't stop thinking about how they don't talk enough. They speak a lot, admittedly, but it's still not enough; Aleks says that to James once, and James tells him when the days are less busy, they'll have more time together.

James says, “come with me, let’s go somewhere when you graduate,” and Aleks doesn’t know how to say no. He wants to go, of course, because, he hasn’t thought of anything other than going to college after high school and getting to spend his days with James. But, it’s an hour from where Aleks lives and it’s scary to be away from home, and he doesn’t want to say no, so he doesn’t.

James says, “run away,” when they’re tired on a Skype call, three hours past the time Aleks is usually asleep by, so he’s half-asleep, cheek numb against his keyboard. James has never looked more awake, hair cut short and hoodie half unzipped, face lit up in the dark by his screen. He's good looking, obviously, and Aleks is sixteen so he looks at James through half lidded eyes and blushes, considers it for a moment. He'd like to, maybe he will when he's eighteen, because there's nothing for him here. James is an hour away, he clings to that.

“Run away, Aleksandr,” James repeats, clock ticking past two thirty in the morning.

Aleks' voice does not sound like his own when he whispers, “Soon, James. I'll be there soon.”

Soon is almost two years away, but James is convinced, and deep down must know Aleks can't just leave because he tells him to sleep, get some rest before school. He nearly hangs up,  _nearly_ , but Aleks stares at him tiredly, hair an unbedded mess and eye bags under his eyes growing purple. James says, “I'll wait until you fall asleep,” and Aleks’ heart skips a few beats but he nods, is grateful for the company.

His last few years of high school go much faster than he thought, James too busy these days with work and university to message back often. Graduation feels like a dream, comes and goes so quick that Aleks thinks he could've blinked and missed it; could've paid more attention to the years going by to notice how much closer he was to meeting James.

It's a Friday, the air cold and Aleks wearing the sweater for a university he's applied to in the spring that's close to James, when he gets the call.  _Nova is calling_ , flashing bright, the screen lighting up enough to make out James on the other end, face filling the space. He looks tired, as he usually do, but there's a knowing smile tucked between his cheeks, a landscape of snow in his backyard behind him.

Aleks laughs, crinkles his eyes and ducks his chin against his chest.

His hair is against his jawline, long and slept in, and he must look like a mess compared to James. But, James breathes a small white, breath out, and every nerve Aleks had settles instantly. That's where he's meant to be, he knows, and James does too, so they sit in silence for long enough to take each other in, to focus on everything happening at once.

“See you soon?” James says, voice crackling through Aleks’ speakers, but still soft. It's quiet, shy almost, but it's familiar and kind.

Aleks smiles, focuses on James staring back, eyes dark and hair slightly less close to his scalp than before. Says, “In a week, I'll see you in a week.”

He has a one-way ticket to James, a train trip with all his things in tow, and he tries not to think about his hands shaking in his lap. Anxiety, forever present, but Aleks glances up, catches James looking straight at him, a smile tucked into one side of his mouth, and things feel better. They feel right, like Aleks has done this thing right, and he pulls his sleeves over his hands, curls them into tight fists.

“Don't be late?” James jokes, voice loud in Aleks’ small room.

With a laugh and heat rising to his cheeks, Aleks replies, “Shut up.”

.

.

.

_earlier - 2010._

Messy-haired, bare-legged, a bottle of something sweet and cheap still trapped in a crinkled bag. James’ laughter drips out of his mouth, natural, and Aleks loves it, and him, and the warmth of it.

.

College doesn't suit them, so they sit on the floor of James’ dorm against his bed, think about the snow outside his window. Aleks rests his head on his shoulder, thinks about cutting his hair and dropping out of whatever he's supposed to be doing that he hasn't bothered showing up for.

James laces their fingers together, loose but present, and the room is suddenly ten degrees warmer than before. Either because James’ roommate has turned the heating on, or Aleks’ cheeks are so hot from the contact of James so close that he's literally burning up.

“We can leave,” James mutters, like it doesn't matter how he says it because Aleks is almost too tired to hear anyway. Maybe James didn't want him to, but he did, head rolling ever so slight to press his face against the curve of James’ neck.

They're both almost shivering, if it wasn't for the warm air blowing through the room, or both of them each wearing a hoodie of James’. It's too big on Aleks, still too small to get away with casually wearing James’ stuff, but it's warm, and it smells like the deodorant James wears so Aleks can't find it in himself to complain.

“And go where, James?” he asks, hates how hostile his words sound. He doesn't mean it to, but he's tired and he's always hated school so he's mad at himself for thinking university could even work. James is a good enough incentive to stay, at least, but he's been talking about leaving so often that Aleks doesn't know if he can find it in himself to bother with classes much now.

“Anywhere, Aleksandr! Let's go anywhere,” James replies, presses their palms closer together, squeezes the hand Aleks has in his. “Hell would be better than here, tell me you think any different. Let's just go fucking anywhere.”

Aleks curls his fingers into James hand, thinks about the snow and them, and leaving university. Sometimes, he imagines what it'd be like to wake up in the morning next to James, their breaths warm and heavy as they sync together, their voices tired as they whisper hello to the sunrise in the quiet of a cold morning. He could get used to that, he could.

“Okay, yeah,” he says, yawns warmth into James’ shoulder, feels him shiver when Aleks let's his hand go and grabs at his wrist instead. “Whatever you want, James.”  _I'd follow you anywhere._

James’ side is warm against Aleks’ when he moves the slightest bit closer, accommodates Aleks’ head on his shoulder a little more. James’ roommate is asleep on the other side of the room, and Aleks is so tired he thinks he might fall asleep in James’ dorm at any moment, even though that's not allowed.

The snow outside the window softens, and the sun casts the room in orange light, filters through the curtains and projects it against them. It looks nice against James’ skin, on the outline of a tattoo Aleks is planning to get coloured in a few months.

“Colorado,” James says, quiet, and more breath than words. He moves so that Aleks has to lift his head, has to meet the curious, bright eyes staring into his, lit up with whatever thought is currently occupying James’ mind. He smiles, and his hand is sweaty against Aleks’ but neither letting go. “Come with me to Colorado.”

Aleks stares, can see how hopeful James is that he'll say yes, drop everything again and follow him wherever he wants to go. Which, Aleks will, and always will, but he doesn't want to look like he's ready to do that, because that means admitting he's more attached than he thought; that he likes James, and he'd sacrifice anything for him. It's not healthy, maybe, but it feels right in a way Aleks can't explain.

“Come with me,” James repeats, let's go of Aleks’ hand to cup his face. “We can get out of here, just say the word.”

“You have one fucking year left, James,” Aleks argues, already knowing it's a useless endeavour. “You really want to quit now when you're so close to getting out of here anyway?”

“This isn't about me,” James says, waits for the familiar glint of recognition in Aleks’ eyes. “Three years of university left, and what are you supposed to do when I graduate and you're here on your own? Just come with me, stop being such an asshole.”

“Calling me an asshole, very convincing,” Aleks tries, but shyly meets James’ gaze and knows he's already lost.

.

.

.

_earlier - 2011._

It's snowing, white and thick and heavy, and the air is cold as James pushes Aleks out the back door of the place they're renting in Colorado.

Aleks’ hair is dark enough that the flakes stand out, his breath a clear puff of white and a strange contrast against the fading brown of his jacket. It's freezing, but reminds him of winter's spent in Russia with family he hasn't spoken to in years, reminds him of Skype calls with James and the snowy landscape in the background.

James watches him through the glass door, laughs like Aleks shifting his weight from each foot, tucking his hands in his pocket and pressing his chin to his chest, is amusing to him. Which, it probably is, because he's James and he has a habit of casual assholery when the opportunity arises.

“Want to come inside?” he says, muffled through the door, a wide smile stretching his lips.

Aleks stares, hopes the warm air he's holding in his cheeks and the downturn of his brows is enough of an answer. Except, one minute he's standing in the snow unable to feel parts of his body he's a little more than scared of losing, and the next-

The next, James is flicking back the lock, pushing open the door, and tackling Aleks to the ground. Aleks manages a rough, low, 'James!’, in surprise, doesn't have time to prepare for the wet slush to hit his back. It soaks through his jacket, makes his stomach sink then rise, then sink again, and goosebumps suddenly riddle his legs.

“Pretty cold out, huh?” James asks, squints his eyes against the sun, ignores how cold Aleks is beneath him.

“What the fuck, dude?”

James’ attention flickers down, catches on the snow in Aleks’ hair, the colour drained from his lips and face, and laughs. Fucking  _laughs_. Aleks would think about killing him if he wasn't pressed so close, hands on either side of Aleks arms holding him over Aleks, their legs slightly tangled together in the fall. Or, Aleks has lost most of the feeling in his limbs and can't differentiate between whose legs are whose.

“Thought you might want some company,” James says, still staring down, and Aleks has half a mind to push him off if it weren't for the wet ice sticking through his clothes.

“I wanted to go inside!” he argues, and a smile quirks at his lips unintentionally, and James just doesn't catch it.

“Why are you being such a fucking grump? It's a nice day, you princess. Enjoy the snow.”

Aleks stares, and stares some more, and tries not to get caught up on the way the cold has frosted slightly to James’ eyelashes, the snowflakes settling on the shoulders of his hoodie. And the winter sun, dull but still bright, and overhead enough for James’ presence to cast a shadow over Aleks from where he's pressed into the snow.

It's weird, in a good way, to remember three years ago when James was text on a screen and that's all, and how all that led to this. Even if Aleks is slightly concerned about his chance of hypothermia, his fingers curled into fists and his lips losing all feeling in them. The cold sucks, as pretty and cozy looking as the snow looks from inside the safety of a warm house.

James’ eyes slowly flickering across Aleks’ lips, the temperature easily ignored for a moment when Aleks sees, and he can imagine nothing about his body right now is healthy. The cold, the chill, the fact James is so close and Aleks’ heart is beating fast than it ever has before.

Part of Aleks thinks it's wishful thinking, and he's not even sure if thinking about it and wanting it are the same thing so he doesn't move, let's the situation unfold. With James’ hand kneading snow by Aleks’ head, his face getting close enough for Aleks to go cross-eyed trying to focus on him. It would be better if James didn't pull away, shove a handful of cold snow and ice into Aleks face and slightly parted lips, instead.

“James!"

.

.

.

_earlier- 2012_

Here’s the thing: Aleks likes Colorado, and the dog James finds on the side of the name and suitably names Ein, and he likes the snow, and he likes the two guys they start working for. Dan and Jordan, Jordan and Dan, who dress similarly to James and Aleks, and believe in ghosts so decide to dedicate their dwindling years to trying to find them. Aleks even likes the shitty van they start working out of, with it’s pathetic excuse for an engine and heating that’s so bad he finds himself wrapped up in James’ sweaters more often than not.

Here is also the thing: Aleks likes James. Which is a kick right to his chest, leaves him a little more than breathless every time James is a little more close than Aleks would ever consider getting with a friend. Like, them squished into a single seat in the van watching Jordan and Dan do some commentary on a small screen while a teenager named Trevor records everything.

It’s that, and thinking back to when he was eighteen and James was twenty, and his train was a little early and James was a little late, and Aleks couldn’t even be mad. Saw James with his half unzipped hoodie and his short hair, and a pair of shoes Aleks would tease him harmlessly about later, and forgave him for sleeping through his alarms, plural, because it was James. Aleks was a bit too much long, dark hair, a bit too small and shy and wrapped up in how nervous he was, to notice James standing in front of him, arms open.

Until, he did, and threw himself against him, and James stumbled back a step, smiled wide, laughed, and stole whatever was left of Aleks’ heart all in one.

Aleks won’t say he’s in love, and really isn’t sure if there’s anything more there than a friendship that is different--  _deeper_ , more loving-- than any of the relationships he’s had with a friend before. It’s makes sense, in a way, until they go home and Ein jumps and scratches at their legs with excitement, and James coos, calls her baby with fond in his voice, and Aleks turns around like it was his name being called. Not that he wants it to be, not that he wants more than what this is right now with James; because it’s him, and because it’s a him. That thought is enough to leave Aleks in bed on his own, after a nightmare, too scared to seek out James in the night because the unpredictability of that is enough on its own to keep Aleks awake.

So, instead, he falls asleep again and dreams about ghosts, about demons, about another van crashing into theirs and leaving only one survivor that is never James. And, God, he needs to sort this out before he starts self-medicating to fall asleep at night because surveillance is boring as it is and he can’t fall asleep at work, he can’t.

A year and a half, Trevor’s fifteenth birthday, James and Aleks crammed into a king bed at a rundown motel, Aleks in a pair of James’ sweats because he forgot his own, Ein sleeping at his feet, James’ voice tired but full, saying, “Let’s leave.”

Aleks tucks his hands further down under the covers to grab at James, to try and pull him from whatever sleep he was trying to have because they need to talk about this; about him never wanting to stay anywhere. It can’t be normal for him to be like this, to get so easily and quickly tired of every place he ever goes, never managing to find a place to stay. He spent three years at university, just over a year in Colorado, a year and a half with Dan and Jordan, and he wants to leave again. Really, pack their shit into boxes and take off again, which they can’t keep doing.

Something solid, something that doesn’t always feel so temporary; Aleks wants that. Hasn't stopped thinking about a home with James since Aleks was eighteen and stuck in a degree at university he couldn't care less about, and James would sit down next to him during their movie nights and talk about getting a place. A nice one, when they graduated-- or, left-- and got jobs and raised enough to get a house in a place where it snows, and where they can do whatever stupid shit they want because the place would be theirs. James only ever called it the house or the place, and Aleks thought about it really hard one night and knows if it had happened, he would've called it home. Anywhere with James is home now, but the idea of a building being home was pretty nice, too.

“We’ve seen everything there is to see here, it’s a piece of shit town. I want to go somewhere different, somewhere that doesn’t look exactly the same as the last place we were. Come on, Aleksandr,” James says, pleads with the fingers of his left hand tugging at the front of Aleks’ shirt, hands curled into a fist around the fabric. “We can’t stay here.”

“Where the fuck are we supposed to go, James? Jesus Christ,” Aleks says, raising his voice.

Aleks thinks it might be commitment issues, hopes deep down that James doesn’t get tired of the scenery of his face, because, really, that would kill him. It’s going to be them for the rest of their lives, surely, because Aleks can’t imagine it any other way. And because James is close and breathing steady as he thinks, and Aleks figures their chances of this going downhill-- this being them-- is slim to none, as long as James doesn’t go somewhere Aleks can’t follow him.

“Anywhere,” James, lying on his side with his head to Aleks’ shoulder, who’s staring at the roof. “Wherever you want to go, let’s go there. We’re young, man, we can go wherever we want and it barely matters. As long as we have money and Ein and--”

“We can’t just leave!”

Ein perks up at the end of the bed, her eyes shining bright in the dark at Aleks’ outburst. Jordan and Dan are in the room over, Trevor likely passed out in the back of their car sitting in the lot, and they're being too loud; Aleks can't fight off the paranoia of them overhearing and kicking he and James out before they get the chance to really leave. James must understand that, can't possibly be stupid enough to have known Aleks for this long and not know how he feels about this.

“Aleks?” James whispers, puts a hand on Aleks’ cheek along his jaw. It's a soft touch, though his fingers dig a little harsh into the space before Aleks’ ear, the residence of the short hairs of his sideburns. James’ thumb presses into Aleks’ cheekbone, pushes his fingers in to turn Aleks’ face towards him, is so close now that the heat of his breath tickles Aleks’ skin. The hand of Aleks’ he was holding, his shoulder once pressed awkwardly into the bed to do so, is let go, James instead using the leverage to get closer. “Look at me, Aleksandr.”

Aleks is twenty and tired, his hands shaking under the covers, James so close that Aleks can't think of anything but him and Aleks, and the absence of distance between them. It's terrifying, to not be able to get used to anything because none of it holds any form of permanency, not with James and always looking for an exit no matter where he is. Worst of all, maybe, is that Aleks  _knows_ he'll go with James wherever he wants to, and not just because James is all he has now. That has a little to do with it, but that's not why.

“What about Trevor?” Aleks manages, doesn't want to argue because it's pointless, closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at James. “He's only fifteen, I don't even know if he has a family or if he's Jordan's or-”

“We'll take him with us,” James says, as if the concept of hitting the road to leave behind the security of jobs and shelter to run away with their bosses’ fifteen year old camera man is no big deal. Which it is, really, but James always says first then thinks later, and Aleks is hoping that's the case this time.

“You mean like kidnap him?”

James sighs and shifts closer to press his face against Aleks’ collarbone, to use the place of his chest where his heart is now beating loud as a pillow. It's comforting and warm, because it's nearly fall, and autumn's here have already proven themselves colder than the ones Aleks grew up knowing after he'd moved to America. James’ presence is soothing in itself, even if the future is daunting and Aleks won't be able to sleep tonight because he'll be so preoccupied with thoughts of leaving. It feels like abandoning everything they've built in the past year or so, despite James not thinking about it like that because he never does; he gets bored, he grabs Aleks by his hand and his heart, packs their things, and drags Aleks halfway across the country.

Aleks loves him, and can't ever really consider staying somewhere without him. They've been friends for four years, and been pseudo-living together for two, because college doesn't count as being roommates but they could've been with how much time they've spent together. Of course Aleks is going to go with him, and of course he'll make James work a little hard to convince him that it's the right thing, but at the end of the day it'll always be them.

It has to be, really. Neither of them have anything but each other, other than the small corgi at the end of the bed, and even if they did, the conscious decision to become  _them_ wasn't because they only had one another. More so a result of years of friendship and bonding, and Aleks loves James, like really loves him, way too fucking much to consider one day choosing to stay somewhere when James decides they should ditch it.

Aleks loves James, thinks leaving him would probably break his heart, so concentrates on James’ steady breathing, his hands on Aleks. Says, “We stay for a week, okay? Then we like, split the last check, take Trevor with us, hop in your poor excuse of a car, and go somewhere. Back to Colorado, if you want, if that place we paid the deposit on is still up for rent after we left. I think Ein would like it there, and it has three bedrooms so Trevor would have a bed for once. I just-- dude, I don't know how much longer we can keep cutting our losses and just fucking leaving every place or person we stumble upon.”

“I know,” James breathes, pauses as the blanket dips with Ein's weight as she moves to lay at his back. “I'm sorry.”

It's not an apology Aleks was looking for, more an explanation for this that he can't figure out. James and his constant exhaustion of places, and how unfair it would be to expect him to stay because he's just not the type; Aleks doesn't want him to change, but he wouldn't mind knowing that someday they'll settle down somewhere. Preferably together, in a house like the one James used to describe to him when they were only slightly younger and still in university, still trying to leave where they were.

Nothing much has changed since then, but Trevor is a thought at the back of Aleks’ mind. He's fifteen and talented with a camera, and Dan and Jordan always tend to catch more of their ghosty bullshit when he's with them so he's a good asset to the team. Aleks would feel guilty taking him, keyword being  _would_ , if he wasn't currently sitting in their van in the parking lot of the motel to sleep because Jordan hadn't thought to book two rooms. He's a kid, a good kid who could do a lot more with his life than he is, and Aleks can't imagine going and leaving him behind.

Everything would seem off without him because his presence is so loud and fun, and everything about him is youthful and bright in a way that reminds Aleks of himself at that age. So, yeah, Aleks can't leave him behind, but he doesn't know how they're supposed to take the kid who's been trailing behind Dan and Jordan for years. There's the issue of family, though Aleks isn't sure Trevor has one, and the problem of money, and custody, and he doesn't know if Trevor even wants to come with them.

Aleks hopes he does.

“Go to sleep, we'll talk about this in the morning,” Aleks says, hopes his voice doesn't sound as choked up to James as it does to himself. “Goodnight.”

James is close, breathing soft, and his weight is warm and only slightly heavy against Aleks’ chest. It reminds him of them last year, when it was Aleks curled against James and James running his fingers though the knotted mess of hair on Aleks’ head. So much has changed since then but they're still them, he just hopes that in a few years time he can say the same.

“'Night, Aleksandr,” James whispers, and Aleks smiles for a second at the sound of his tired, slurred words. They still have each other, they're still the same them they were four years ago, and maybe, just this once, a change of scenery will be good for them.

Two and a half weeks later, they've pressed their cases and bags of stuff into every corner of their car, Trevor asleep in the back with Ein in his lap, Aleks behind the wheel of James’ car, James outside arguing with Jordan. They're leaving, splitting their last paychecks between them, and driving to anywhere that isn't where they are now. Trevor snores, Ein looks at James through the front windshield, sticks her tongue out, and Aleks nervously drums his fingers on the steering wheel to a song he hasn't heard in years. It's catchy, sad, fitting. Something about loss and leaving, and meeting up again some other time. Aleks turns it down, keeps his eyes forward and closed as James gets in the car.

“You alright?” James asks, too soft for him, with a hand reaching out to grab the one Aleks has settled on the wheel. He grips his fingers, squeezes and wrenches them gently away from their tight, white knuckle grip, something Aleks is silently thankful for.

Trevor stirs in the back, Ein barks small for James’ attention, and Jordan goes inside so it's just James and Aleks, and the whole world waiting for them. Wherever they want to go is patiently awaiting their arrival, if Aleks believes in destiny and fate, which he doesn't, and they have all the time in the world to do what they want if they want it. For now, nothing needs to exist but them and this, and Ein and Trevor, and James’ hand on Aleks’. It's unreal, really, even though they've done this a million times before and they'll likely do it again, but Aleks will forever find a certain thrill behind exploring the unknown with James. It's them, once again doing this, and Aleks let's out a bark of laughter for a few seconds, tries to let it shake away his growing anxiety.

“Are we seriously doing this?” Aleks says, and the disbelief but slight excitement is clear in his voice. “This is like, fucking insane, James.”

James smiles in Aleks’ peripheral vision, looks down at their hands intertwined with a fondness in his gaze. “Guess so, Aleksandr,” he laughs, and it's more soft wheeze than giggle, more familiarly James than anything else Aleks can think so. “Are you ready?”

.

.

.

_earlier - 2013._

Maine is nice this time of year, all coastline and wind and old people with more stories than their mouths know what to do with.

It's a small, depressing fishing town, with lighthouses scattered along the ocean line, and punnets of blueberries lining the inside walls of small grocery markets on the street corners. The lighthouses are James’ favourites, his hand holding Aleks’ as he tugs him out of bed at eleven one night to go to the beach. A tired Aleks, hair recently cut and no longer long enough to obscure his view or tickle his neck, barely has time to slip on sneakers before James is pulling him out the room they're renting. Trevor, nearly asleep with Ein resting on the top of his pillow, lifts his head to watch them, mumbles a tired goodbye.

“James, where the fuck are you taking me?” Aleks hisses, is suddenly aware of how cold it is here in the winter and his lack of a jacket, bare arms exposed to the chill.

“Shut up and walk,” James says, but Aleks can hear the grin in his voice. He's practically bouncing on his heels, hand tightening its grip on Aleks’ wrist in excitement, turning as they exit through the front door of the inn to look at Aleks, to notice the unimpressed expression on his face and laugh. “You'll like it, Aleksandr, trust me.”

‘It’ turns out to be a lighthouse, and a boat somewhere in the distance that Aleks assumes is a fishing boat that maybe got lost. The ocean is rocky, water splashing against the rocks and making the already freezing air seem even more so, an involuntary shiver finding its way up Aleks’ spine. It's pretty, with a few stars visible in the sky, the ocean illuminated by the streetlights- which make it seem even more dangerous and deep, brightness of the bulbs barely touching the surface- and the back-and-forth of the lighthouse light. It's beautiful, like, really beautiful, and Aleks turns to the side to catch James looking at him.

“Cold?”

“A little, dude, yeah,” Aleks replies, barely has time to properly tune in entirely to the situation before James is peeling off his jacket and passing it over to Aleks like he doesn't mind the cold.

Aleks knows James, knows he won't go out in the cold unless he's wearing layers because it gets so, so cold in some of the places they end up. They're worried about getting sick, or something worse, and also James is just an asshole who will flatout put his foot down at the concept of playing in the snow unless Aleks and Trevor promise not to throw snowballs at him. Still, it makes Aleks just that little bit more fond, despite how much he sort of wishes it didn't; because it's kinda stupid how endearing it is to see James with his nose all pink, and his cheeks flushed, and his expression twisted up at the idea of going out into the snow wearing only his jeans and shirt.

James walks forward, attempting to slide down the rocks to the sand of the beach, the heavy waves swallowing the land under the control of the full moon over their heads. Aleks laughs, tightens James’ jumper around him, and follows him, taking the land that's offered at the end as Aleks’ legs struggle to reach the next rock. He's literally stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the thought makes him laugh even more as James struggles to help down.

“Jesus Christ,” James offers, a little out of breath and a little flushed in the cheeks. He looks nice in the light of the moon; always looks nice but especially now, with the ocean and stars and lost boat as a backdrop. “Y’alright?”

“I stood in a puddle,” Aleks sulks, and is met with a smile when he shifts his gaze from his dripping wet shoe to James. “What did you drag me all this way for?”

James deflates, Aleks narrowing his eyebrows at the conflicted expression on James’ face, before James turns back to the ocean. It's nice, Aleks knows it's why he wanted to come here, and, admittedly, it does remind Aleks of a river they visited a few years ago in Colorado. It wasn't as pretty or dark, but there was dirt that was thin enough to pass as sand, and a quarter moon that reflected easily in James’ eyes whenever he looked at Aleks, and it was… It was nice, the river and them, and university a recent memory in both their minds.

Aleks feels a tug on his arm, right where his elbow connects both parts of his arm, and James pulls him forward with him. The sand is soft but windswept, and Aleks follows suit in sitting down a few metres away from the tide, close enough for the light of the lighthouse to edge across the top of Aleks’ sneakers for a few seconds before retreating back.

“Kinda romantic, don't you think?” James says, as a joke. Obviously as a joke.

Beside him, Aleks shrugs, tries not to think about how warm and right James’ hoodie feels around him. “Not really,” he lies, and James pretends he doesn't hear over the waves, the boat horn honking in the distance.

.

Trevor's sixteenth; he's all shy smiles and soft laughs as he sits at a small table in a shitty motel in a place whose name Aleks can't remember. James got a cake and a present, and Ein is jumping excitedly around them, Aleks leaning down to wrap his arm around the back of Trevor's shoulder. It feels like family should, like friendship and good things for the future, and Aleks jokingly presses a kiss to Trevor's cheek as Trevor laughs and tries to move away.

“Dude!” he says, voice thick with amusement. “Gross.”

“Happy birthday,” James interrupts, but he's smiling. “You're still a baby, Trevor, but here's to being young and sixteen.”

“The dancing queen,” Aleks says, smiles up at James through hair that's starting to grow long again, catches him already looking.

It's nice, Aleks can't help but think, the three of them with Ein and a car a few couple cities and towns under their belt. Colorado is still waiting for them again, James says that every now and then like he's going to need to convince Aleks to go back there- hint: he absolutely won't- and Trevor sits in the back staring out the window like he's not listening. He listens to every conversation, which is why when James brings up Trevor going to school instead of being here, with them, Trevor doesn't speak for three whole hours. Which, is a record for him.

Aleks accidentally pressed the brake in shock, left the car sitting paused on an empty highway flanked by desert, and couldn't help the way his hands shook on the steering wheel. The conversation was a long time coming, but that doesn't mean Aleks wanted to talk about it or think about it, and Trevor didn't either. So, James only brings it up when Trevor's asleep and Aleks is riding passenger, and he's right about the school thing, they all know. The truth of it is just a bit hard to swallow, that's all.

“Dancing queen? You're so lame,” Trevor says, he has frosting on the side of his cheek and Ein trying to get into his lap because he has cake. Everything is as it should be, Aleks can't help but think that. But  _say_ it.

James glances at him, let's his voice go quiet and almost unheard as he says, “yeah, yeah it is.”

Trevor has a good birthday, all things considered, and they end up back on the road before it's even noon. But, James falls asleep in the passenger seat next to Aleks, and Aleks steals a few glances at him while he can, at how peaceful and nice he looks when everything isn't weighing down on him for once. That's home, Aleks realises, when you can see someone and know everything about them, from every freckle to every wrinkle, to things that sometimes James tells Aleks only he knows.

In the middle seat in the back, Trevor watches, says, near silent: “Are you ever going to tell him?”

Aleks looks back at the road, fingers tightening on the wheel, and glances once in the rearview mirror to find Trevor already looking back at him. Aleks drives, and he tries not to think about Trevor, about the  _Are you ever going to tell him?_

Easier said than done.

.

.

.

_earlier - 2014._

James has more savings than he knows what to do with, money saved away from jobs he had in highschool, and after high school, at university, from working with Dan and Jordan, and the occasional job at whatever town or city that he, Aleks, and Trevor stopped in.

It's a Thursday when James mentions it, and Aleks is sitting behind the wheel with Trevor in the passenger seat, James leaning forward between with Ein cuddled in his lap. They've spoken about settling down before, when it was late at night and Trevor was asleep in the back, and James would say they should stop driving for a bit, find a place. And Aleks would laugh softly and ask if he meant for right now or just in general, and James would catch his eye, pause, and say, “Yeah.”

This time, Trevor is watching the road in front of them, a 'for sale’ sign to his left blurring in his vision as they drive past it. Aleks doesn't pay much attention to that kind of stuff, instead stares at the speed limit for a few moments before his own meter, presses the gas. It's sixty along here, Aleks going barely above because these aren't the country roads they were usually alone on where he could try and get past ninety. It's suburbs, with school kids who have finished for the day lining the roads, mothers and fathers crossing with prams, and it takes Aleks’ mind back to Trevor and school too easily.

“What do you say we stay here?” James says, let's the words roll easy off his tongue like he's been thinking about it a little. “For a while, maybe.”

“Really?” Trevor, tired, his elbow on the door with his cheek pressed against his palm, the car slowing down at a crossing. “We were just in Virginia and you want to stop  _here_?”

It's not that the place isn't nice- it is, definitely is- but Aleks couldn't even find the place on Google, or any other part of the web either. It's practically a ghost town, if it weren't for all the people who lived here, and something about it is unsettling but comforting all at the same time. It's a lot cleaner than the places they're used to, and Aleks doesn't know if this is where he pictured them staying; he liked the farming districts in Maine, that's where he wanted to stay. Trevor liked Virginia, because it was quiet and calm and there was a lot of room for Ein to run around.

Aleks doesn't stop, but the car slows down significantly, and Trevor tucks his feet up on the chair with him as he looks sideways out the window, head resting on the doorframe. He looks younger like that, more like the fourteen year old they meet two and a half years ago than the sixteen year old he is now. Aleks won't say he misses those years, and that he misses university where he had some direction, but he thinks about it a lot. About how differently everything could've gone, and how terrified and young he was before he met James, and how much more he's done with him than he ever could've done without him.

There's no doubt in Aleks’ mind that he loves him, after all they've been through and all the small moments Aleks can look back on and remember. The ones with them, watching fireworks at a beach with Ein further up, Trevor chasing her because he was trying to play fetch with her and she took the stick instead of giving it back. It's those little things, those little fond memories, that makes Aleks pull the car off the side of the road.

“We stopping?” James says, and he sounds like he hasn't slept in days, enough so for Aleks to tuck a note into the back of his mind to make sure James has a rest sometime later. At a motel or in the car, anything to get rid of the purpling under his eyes.

“I want to talk,” Aleks replies, doesn't miss the slight downturn of James’ eyebrows, the frown. “About this place, what the fuck we're doing here.”

“I just told you,” James says, like it explains everything. “We're staying here for a bit. It's nice and it's quiet, and you've been driving all day. I thought this is what you wanted.”

Aleks stares and stares, watches Trevor press the button to push his window down, feels the breeze that passes Trevor brush through his messy hair. The air outside smells fresh, not like the coast in Maine or the streets in Colorado, or the trees in Virginia, but it smells clean. Which, is more than can be said for all of them sitting in the car, a few days past the expiry date of their last shower, Ein with dirt still clinging to in between her paws from the last time they stopped to take her for a walk.

The place is half of what Aleks had in mind all those years ago; James saying 'I thought this is what you wanted’ repeats itself in Aleks’ mind, reminds him that James is trying. That's far more than can be said for Aleks, who drives and drives, but has never really bothered to think about something more permanent. Maybe the thought of him becoming like that, and James changing his mind and needing somewhere to stay that isn't a car or a cheap motel, is a testament to how much time they've been doing this. This being the running from every place they go, dragging Trevor with them even though he comes willingly. A life like this is no life for a kid, Aleks knows that.

“James-”

“Can you guys stop fighting?” Trevor mumbles, stretches his arms bent above his head and yawns. “It's like listening to my parents.”

Aleks only becomes aware of his attention very quickly turning onto Trevor when James starts laughing, Ein wriggling excitedly in his lap at the noise.

“You should've seen your face,” James laughs, more wheeze than anything else. Trevor looks at them, a small smile smuggled into the corner of his lips, and Aleks can't help the single bubble of laughter that escapes his mouth, the tangled pieces of his fringe not hidden by his beanie brushing his forehead. And, God, he's going to get so used to this- already has- and he tries not to think about how it's going to end but if-  _when_ it does, it's going to break his heart.

.

James lasts three months before Aleks wakes up next to him in bed one night, sees their stuff shoved hazardously into bags with clothes spilling out and various things still on the floor. James looks at him, apologetic, and Ein crawls into Aleks’ arms, cuddles against his chest. It's dark but not so much that Aleks can't make out the way James is looking at him, tired and stressed, his eyes and face red from what Aleks assumes is crying.

Three things happen: Trevor snores loudly behind them in the bed pressed into the other corner of the room, Ein jumps away from Aleks to go elsewhere, James reaches a hand out to gently ruffle the mop of dark, unbrushed hair on Aleks’ head.

“I'm sorry, Aleksandr,” he whispers, and his voice sounds sad, raw, wrecked. He moves his hand back, rubs at his face as Aleks watches him through tired eyes, at how pretty James looks outlined by the light forcing its way through the clumsily closed curtains. “I tried, for you and for Trevor and for Ein, but I can't. I'm sorry.”

Aleks sighs, lets himself close his eyes and press his face into his pillow for a moment. He's wearing his jeans from earlier because he fell asleep too early to change them, and there's a cool breeze touching the exposed patch of skin near his hip from where his t-shirt has shifted slightly in his sleep. He was looking forward to the not having to drive, to trying to build a semblance of a life here if that's even possible. One day, maybe, when they're older and ready to settle down, and Aleks isn't so terrified of how he feels. One day, maybe; it feels nice to think that, about the possibility of that maybe.

“Y’alright?” Aleks tries as he leans up, his voice deep and thick with sleep as he glances over at James. James moves his attention from Aleks’ waist to his face, his cheeks puffy and his hoodie falling off one shoulder from where he hasn't zipped it up completely.

“Tired, I think,” James says, bites his bottom lip. “Kinda hard to sleep though, you know.”

Aleks fists the bedsheets in his hand, thinks about the last time he saw James sleep through the night, and clears his throat. It's been too long, even at university he was always awake before Aleks, always fell asleep after Aleks has. It could just be how he is, but Aleks considers the state he's in and the fact all their things are packed, and thinks it might run a little deeper than that. That instead of this being a James things, it's more of a 'I don't know what to do and I'm afraid I've fucked up’ issue.

James sniffs, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands curled into fists. He seems smaller, younger, like the James that Aleks first knew, and not the one he's been friends with for years now. It's a good look on him, though Aleks would easily argue that everything is, and it makes Aleks more fond, more upset that they haven't spoken about this as much as they should've. It's no one's fault, really, but Aleks blames himself for not being here for James when he should've been, for leaving him to try and work through this on his own. It hurts, and twists and tightens at Aleks’ heart, has him reaching out his hand to grab at James’, though it's hidden in his hoodie.

“Come on, James,” he whispers, hopes the half-smile he offers reaches its intended audience. “Lie down with me. Sleep.”

James appears unsure for a second, but he raises his gaze to Aleks’ and there's a sudden relief in his face, his shoulders and body relaxing and collapsing. It's reassuring, to know that things are bad but they have these small moments, and they can work through it later when it isn't so early and they're running on too little sleep to consider any kind of serious conversation.

Aleks shuffles back, watches James as he lowers himself down onto the bed. Up close, it's easier to see just how exhausted he is, but Aleks reaches a hand out in the small distance between them to squeeze at James’ shoulder, hopes it says what his words aren't able to. That he gets it, and it's okay, and he loves James, he loves him so it's more than okay, and he doesn't need to apologise for this because they'll get through it like they get through everything else.

“Aleksandr?” James says, after a few minutes, with Aleks nearly asleep beside him.

Aleks barely manages to get his eyes open, his eyelids heavy and his eyes stinging. But, he does, and he's thankful for it because James is there, and close, and it's nice. More than nice, if Aleks can say that.

“Yeah?”

“Can you face the other way?”

There's a moment where Aleks considers refusing, because he's warm and comfortable, and moving seems like more effort than he has right now. But, James is staring at him expectantly, with his eyes wide and shining, and Aleks has never really been able to say no to him.

“I’m flattered, James, but I'm not interested in-”

“  _Aleksandr_.” A gentle warning.

The softness of it is more than enough to will Aleks’ body to move, turning away from where James is facing him to face Trevor in the bed to their left. There's a moment where Aleks wonders why James wanted him to move, but then James’ knee presses accidentally against the back of Aleks’, and his arm slides across Aleks’ waist, and Aleks moves back into the touch. James gets closer, closing the small sliver of distance that was between them, and his breath is warm against Aleks’ shoulder and neck. It feels safe, and better than those times squeezed together in single beds at university and at motels on the road when the falling asleep together was accidental, the cuddling even more accidental than the initial sleeping.

But, this-  _this_ , is different. Different good, in a way that Aleks might be able to explain if he wasn't so tired, so confused on the warmth against his bed and the hand around him, and how much he likes James. It's something he wants to get used to, which is a scary and comforting thought, and something Aleks will think more about later when it's not three in the morning.

“Goodnight, James.”

James, his fingers of the hand on Aleks stomach curling into themselves, brushing the exposed skin, “Goodnight, Aleksandr.”

.

.

.

_earlier - 2016._

Aleks taps his fingers on the steering wheel as James fills the car up, takes the small walk to inside the store to pay. It's nearing ten at night, street lamps dull and flickering outside the car on the road, making everything about this place seem ten times more creepy and  _unknown_ than it did before. There's only one other car here, parked off to the side putting air in their tyres, a short man, with a beard, who glances over and catches Aleks’ eye for a moment.

Trevor leans over the back of Aleks’ chair, looks tired with the telltale signs of lack of sleep visible in the rearview mirror. He's only just woken up, hair ruffled and messy from sleep where he's started letting it grow out, and Ein is snoring in the passenger seat beside Aleks. She was on James’ lap before he got up, and she's a deep enough sleeper that she's still out cold.

“Let James drive for a bit, you look fucking exhausted, man,” Trevor says, and the maturity in his features doesn't look quite right on him. “Or let me drive, you could teach me.”

“I’m fine, Trevor,” Aleks argues, hope it sounds more reassuring to Trevor than it does to himself.

He taps his finger on the top of the steering wheel, waits for James to appear and tug at the passenger door to get in, scooping Ein up into his lap as he does. It's a swift, familiar motion, and maybe the simplicity of it makes Aleks realise how hard it is to not blink while watching, his eyelids feeling heavier with each time he closes them.

“Alright?” James, turning in his seat to address Aleks and Trevor before reaching for his seatbelt. It was rhetorical, and Trevor isn't going to answer this time like he usually does so Aleks lets a slight smile play at his lips, puts the car back into drive and presses on the gas so they can get out of this place.

Beside him, James is yawning, rubbing his hands into fists against closed eyelids. Aleks can't remember the last time any of them had a proper sleep, and he knows he barely has the money for much but still finds himself following a motel sign so they can rest for the night. It's a hell of a better alternative to staying awake or the others trying to get any semblance of rest on this rocky road. They're mostly silent when they notice Aleks bringing the car to a stop, taking the keys from the engine.

“Wait here?” he says, pauses to run a hand through his unwashed hair.

A hand, tightening soft around his wrist, and James attached to it, eyes reflecting the bright lights outside the car. He looks small curled up with a baggy hoodie on, Ein cuddled up in his lap as she sleeps.

“We don't have to, I'll drive-”

“You look like shit, James,” Aleks deadpans, ignores the mixed expression on James’ face of surprise and recognition. “We'll stay here for one night, you can drive for a few hours in the morning. But for now, we'll have a hot shower and a proper dinner and a sleep in something that isn't us trying to lie down in this car.”

“Okay,” James says, loosens his grip on Aleks. There's something unsure about his words, but Aleks can tell his agreement is genuine, a small glance at Trevor revealing he feels the same.  “Okay, yeah. Yeah, Aleks. You're right. I'm sorry, you're right.”

Trevor leans over the seats to press his palm against the top of Ein's head, massage the fur there, before turning to Aleks, James’ attention torn between the two. It's been a long time since they were in the parking lot of anywhere to stay for the night, but it's a good feeling to be able to look forward to a shower and a bed, and waking up in the morning to a room. Things that most people have, that Aleks has learned to take more seriously than he did considering how rare those few luxuries seem to be now.

“Two beds?” Trevor asks, like the answer isn't already obvious.

.

.

.

_earlier - 2017, may._

James’ twenty seventh birthday is only a few weeks away when he hands Aleks a key, slides it into his hand with a smile meant just for him. It's engraved with  _56_ , silver and cool in Aleks’ palm, and he lifts his head from where he's looking at the key to look at James, to try and ask without having to say it what the key is for. There's a slight buzz of anxiety, a fear of the unknown of the situation, that dissipates the moment Aleks meets James’ eye, sees the expression of happiness on his face.

“This time we stay, no matter what I say,” he says, his hand brushing Aleks’ as he takes the key back. “You want to see?”

Trevor is asleep in the back of the car with Ein, and Aleks leans against the vehicle for a moment to catch his breath, can feel James’ eyes carefully watching him. It's a lot to take in, from barely managing to stay somewhere for more than a few months to a key to a house, which Aleks assumes means this is a place of permanency; a promise, more like.

“Yeah, I want to see, dude. What the fuck.”

James smiles back, tucking the key into the pocket of his jeans before reaching a hand out, grabbing Aleks’ wrist. Aleks let's himself enjoy the moment, and the small contact of James’ hand curled around his arm. Their hair is sweaty, with smaller bits curled slightly and pressed to Aleks’ forehead, James’ hair tired behind him. He's grown it out now, too much effort on the road to bother much now with remembering to get it cut, and Aleks thinks it looks nice. Like, wants to reach out his free hand and run a hand through it. He won't, but he'll think about it later when they're eating later and Trevor goes to sleep, and James falls asleep next to Aleks as he drives. One hand on the wheel, one hand in James’ hair.

Except, now they have a place. Aleks hasn't seen it yet but he trusts James, and it leaves him a little breathless to think about, all those days sitting together tired and how much Aleks used to daydream about this. The house part, the living with James, the spending time together that wouldn't be confined to car rides or shitty motels along the highway.

But, a house means jobs, separate bedrooms, Trevor going to school, which doesn't sound as appealing as the idealist lifestyle Aleks had imagined in his head. In all those dreams, it was he and James, eating takeout and sharing each other's room, and Trevor would be there getting to be the teenager he should get the chance to be. It makes Aleks stop walking, his feet paused in the concrete path leading up to the path, James turning back to look at him.

“What are you thinking?” James asks, gentle, and he lets go of Aleks’ wrist so that their arms both drop respectively to their sides.

“This is happening, right?” Aleks says, like he's unsure, ignores the way James’ expression softens. “Like, we're really fuckin’ here and we're really going to just-- I don't know, dude. We're really going to buy this place and settle down, and we're not going to leave? It doesn't feel real.”

“We've been best friends for how long?”

Aleks swallows harsh, plays with the car keys in his pocket instead of facing James, because it's easier than admitting they're both the problem. The not staying anywhere, the constant running; Aleks doesn't quite know how to say he's too selfish for this, for neighbours and separate rooms and not getting to spend every second of every hour with James and Trevor. It's hard, trying to find the balance between normalcy- them, settling somewhere and getting actual lives- and the appeal of traveling, of it always being just the three of them and Ein. Aleks used to want a house and a yard and a proper job, anything with a steady foundation, but he's too scared of getting that and realising he misses the alternative. It's harder than he thought it would be.

A few feet away, James offers a smile that looks sadder than it was probably meant to. The sun behind Aleks blinds him slightly, but the light of the sunset paints colours onto him and Aleks can't help but look at him, think about how pretty he looks.

“Nine years,” he says, catches Aleks’ gaze and holds it. “I don't know about you but that's an awfully long time to be friends with someone and never get to properly live with them. Do me a favour and give this a chance, Aleksandr?”

“When do we, uh,” Aleks tries, clears his throat. In his hands, his car keys click together, and Ein barks in the distance because she can hear their voices from inside the car. “When do we move in?”

“Next month sometime, the landlord's coming by in a few weeks and we'll sort everything out and then it's ours. If you want it to be.”

Aleks definitely wants it to be.

.

.

.

_now - 2017, june._

“I'm Lindsey, and this is… this is my partner, Anna.”

Aleks is standing in the doorway to the front of the house as James shakes her hand, invites her and Anna inside. A warm breeze drifts from outside, Trevor sitting on the lawn out the front with Ein, their car parked off to the side of the driveway with its engine still warm. They took a trip to Colorado for a few weeks until the house was ready, and the alarm went off late so Aleks probably got a billion tickets speeding down the road to get here from the small hotel a few blocks away. Worth it, though, he knows that.

“I'm James, the dumb-looking one out the front is Trevor, and this is Aleks,” James says, smiles politely with his gaze drifting to the rings on Lindsey and Anna's fingers. Aleks notices because he's staring too, thinking about how nice it must be to have that.

“Nice to meet you,” Anna says, hand with the ring outstretched to Aleks with a wide smile. “You from around here?”

“You could say that,” he replies, and James laughs, lightly elbows Aleks. “Russia, actually. But I grew up around here, kinda.”

Lindsey starts an easy flowing conversation with James as she shows them around the place, shows them where she put the spare key if they need it with three of them in the house. Anna follows close behind, papers tucked under her arm, eyes never leaving their place on Lindsey until she turns to Aleks, stops walking to let him catch up.

“Are you two…” she starts, let's the question drift off.

Aleks gets what she means, because they've been asked before and it's an easy question to answer. He just has to be honest and say no, it's not like that, he's known James for nine years and they've never been anything more than friends, but something about saying it this time stings. He's not sure why, and if it has anything to do with the fact that Lindsey and Anna are married, and probably best friends, and Aleks has never dated anyone. On the road, he didn't have the time, then he just wasn't interested in trying to find something that wasn't right in front of him.

_Are you ever going to tell him?_

Aleks clears his throat, allows a forced but polite laugh, and shakes his head. Hopes the way he hesitates and chokes over his own words isn't too telling as he says, “James and I… we've been friends for a long time. Just friends. We have Trevor, though, who's pretty much our son.”

Anna laughs, then sombers up a little too quick, gaze suddenly directed to the floor. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she whispers, and Aleks is too confused to bother to properly answer.

“Okay, so our numbers are on the fridge if you need them,” Lindsey says, a soft look directed at Anna, who's kicking at her feet on the wooden floors of the house. “And you know where the spare key is, where all the bathrooms and all are, and the key to the basement is on a hook under the sink, too. We'll come back next week to check in and see if everything's alright, but you can give me a call or text or something if there's a problem.”

“Yes, thank you,” James says, and smiles at her. “I'll get Aleksandr to get your numbers down later, for now I think Trevor's probably outside trying to gnaw his arm off. We haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, and I promised him we'd get Chinese later. Can I walk you to your car?”

Beside him, Anna starts walking after them, James and Lindsey's distant laughter drifting through the front door. She's walking slow, holding her breath for some reason, and Aleks follows closely behind. The breeze is now suspiciously colder, likely foretelling of a storm, and Aleks wishes he'd been at least smart enough to have moved all his stuff inside already. If it does rain, he won't look forward to lugging everything from the car inside with shitty weather like that.

Anna turns to look at him as she stops in the doorway on her way out, her fingers suddenly grasping onto the lower of his arm with pretty pink, painted nails, her hair falling soft around her shoulders. Says, “Trust me, I'm good with these kinds of things.” Then leans in, breath warm in the cold. “That boy you love? He's going to die.”

Her hand is soft, but she squeezes the flesh of his forearm and her ring presses in, digs like a reminder. Aleks can't exactly be sure what of, and he stares at her with his stray pieces of his hair falling about his face. He wants to ask but another part is worried, and he pulls his arm away from her back to his side, knows his features aren't as friendly as they were before. Still, she stares then mutters an apology, offers a weak smile that doesn't reach her eyes, and her shoes click against the pavement as she makes her way out of the house and door the driveway to Lindsey.

Aleks stares at a house across the street until his fingers grasping the door are almost painful, and James is back in view walking towards him, lips spread happily.

_That boy you love? He's going to die._

“That went pretty well, huh?” James says, the clear shine of happiness in his eyes fading when he notices Aleks, his pale face, his knuckles turning white as he grips the front door tight. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” Aleks chokes, “yeah. Tired, I guess. Are we getting dinner?”

.

“So,” James says, hand pulling containers out of a paper bag on the kitchen counter, “it turns out, the nearest Chinese food place is  _forty_   _minutes_  away. But, Trevor Googled and found this Mexican food place like, five minutes down the block, so we got that instead. I hope you like fajitas and, uh- whatever this fuck this is, something with rice.”

Trevor is suddenly beside Aleks, reaching over to grab a warm, medium-sized styrofoam container. He makes a face as his hands makes contact with the bottom, pulls his hand away like it was burnt, and looks at Aleks from under his fringe, features twisted to reflect how obviously unimpressed he is with the situation.

“You good?” Aleks asks, amused, and Trevor sighs.

“Burnt my fucking hand, man,” he laments, and they simultaneously ignore James over by the microwave telling Trevor to watch his language. “That hurt.” Then, another sign as he grabs a small plastic sleeve with a fork, says, “I'm tired, I'm going to my room.”

Their house is relatively empty, other than their bags on the ground by the front door, and a microwave and fridge in the kitchen. After years on the road, their possessions are dwindling, and they don't have furniture to fill the space, so when Trevor says his room, he means the big box near the stares, with a good view of the woods behind their house but nothing in it. Except him and Ein, and whatever clothes he's thrown on the floor while trying to find his pyjamas. They'll get beds and couches soon, after they get jobs and can't stop worrying about how much the next hotel room will cost, how they'll afford gas.

Aleks tries to tell himself this will work, that James got this place because he's ready for the reassurance of a home and for a proper life. But, doubt still creeps in way too easily, reminds Aleks that them trying to settle down before has happened so many times in the past. History is doomed to repeat itself, or whatever that saying is, whatever it means other than making Aleks worry about it being true. Except this time, James is twenty six and getting too old to not choose this, and to not want a steady job and a house and somewhere he doesn't have to worry about when they'll have their next meal.

They all need this just as much as each other, Aleks knows that. And, he's looking forward to getting to settle in somewhere for permanent, and to not having to be concerned about Trevor wasting his life on the road with them. This is good, and nice, and they need this almost more than they needed a car or food or money; it's not a choice at this point, it's a necessity.

Trevor presses his palm flat against the small of Aleks’ back, his goodnight loud but soft, Ein trailing behind him as he makes his way up the stairs.

_Yeah_ , Aleks thinks, puts his hand on the kitchen counter in front of him as he watches James.  _Yeah_ , he can get used to this.

“I told Trevor he'll have the floor tonight,” James says, slides the sleeve of his jacket over his hand to grab his steaming food from the microwave, hissing quietly at how hot it is. “There's a TV in the living room, I thought we could watch a movie or something. Whatever it is we like these days and haven't seen, a superhero one, or one like it.”

“You really want to sleep on the floor down here?” Aleks asks, even though he already knows the answer. “It smells like dog.”

“Yeah, and so do you, but you don't see me and Trevor complaining about it.”

Aleks stares at James staring at him until he can't help the smile breaking his lips, the laugh bubbling in his throat without warning. He can't help it, not when laughing with James comes so naturally, and they've been friends for so long that Aleks knows it's a joke, knows he can laugh at his own expense because James doesn't mean it. They're both a little worse for wear these days, older than the teenages they used but still the same as they used to be. Just older, more mature and ready for this, and Aleks doesn't miss the look James directs at him.

They end up sitting against the wall of the living room, food in their laps and legs spread clumsily out in front of them as they watch the small screen of the television. Aleks can't remember exactly what they're watching, it's some kind of parody movie that's purposefully so bad it's almost good. James’ whole body shakes with laughter, his hair falling clumsily out of the bun he pulled it into earlier.

Aleks glances at him for what's meant to be a brief moment then can't look away. The light from the screen illuminates their figures, reflects blues and greens and reds onto James and the white t-shirt he has on under his dark jacket. Aleks has never wanted anything more than to lean over, run a hand through James’ hair and undo it where it's held up, and cup the smooth skin of his cheek with his hand, think about all the things that have happened that have led to this, and to them.

Instead, Aleks leans his head against James’ shoulder, let's his hand holding the fork release it on the floor beside him. Says, “Goodnight, James.”

There's something lovingly simplistic about it all, with their bodies numb on the floor and the clock ticking past midnight, and James’ mouth full of more laughter than he knows what to do with. Aleks let's himself shuffle closer, tucking himself against James, and James doesn't allude to thinking this is strange or different or not okay. It's normal for them now, in a way that Aleks can't quite understand how they got like this or when it started, just that he's grateful that he can do this and not have to feel any particular way about it. It's just James, his best friend, and Aleks likes the heat, the comfort and security, that's all.

Beside him, James pauses, twists his head to meet Aleks’ eyes, his head pressed against James’ shoulder. His eyes shift close, his breath shuddering loud, the television suddenly easy to ignore in the background. It's earlier than they're used to falling asleep, but the bags under their eyes, the years of uneasy rest, are enough to warrant them sleeping for the whole week if they wanted to.

“Yeah,” James says, and Aleks closes his eyes and focuses on him there. “Goodnight, Aleksandr.”

.

Brett, an old friend of James’, needs a ride from the airport. He says something on the phone to Aleks about it being too short on time to rely on a cab, and that he only has one bag of things because he's staying for a few days- no more than three- and Aleks doesn't want to say no so he doesn't. Passes the message onto James when he stumbles into the kitchen in the morning to get a drink, hair undone and frizzy, his shirt dipping enough for Aleks to see the expanse of skin near his collarbones.

“I haven't spoken to Brett in years,” he says, before taking a drink from a freshly opened bottle of water he found in the fridge. “Wonder what he's doing here.”

“Or how the fuck he knew you were even here in the first place?” Aleks points out, doesn't bother disguising the edge in his voice. “We moved in yesterday, James.”

Trevor yawns on Aleks’ left, a chair pulled up to the kitchen counter, his hair tossed around. It's obvious looking at all of them that they slept a bit rough, and on the floor, but they look ten times more rested than they did while on the road, or bouncing back and forth between motels. Their bones creak and ache, their hair is a little long and a lot messy, but the bags under their eyes are fading, that's something.

“Yeah, pretty darn creepy, dude,” Trevor offers, intelligently, as he rubs at his eye.

Aleks gestures towards him, gives James a 'see?’ look. “Even Trevor agrees,” he says, in the corner of his eye sees Trevor stare up at him with eyebrows narrowed. “You're not really going to go?”

James lingers for a moment, car keys clicking together in his hands balled into fists. They could all do with a shower, and a nap even though they've already been asleep for eleven hours, and somehow James still manages to look half decent wearing yesterday's clothes and with his hair puffy and long around his shoulders. Aleks watches him because he doesn't know what else to do, other than hope he thinks it through a little more and tells Brett to take a cab, that the traffic's bad or he's got something else going on. The whole situation leaves a weird taste in Aleks’ mouth, and Trevor doesn't seem too confident in it either.

“I'm going,” James says, ignores the look of protest that instantly crosses Aleks’ face at hearing his words. “I'll keep in touch, yeah? I'll call you when I get there and I'll call when I've dropped him wherever he needs to go. I'm a big boy, Aleks,” and Aleks can't argue with that. “I've known Brett for almost as long as I've known you, I can't  _not_ go and pick him up when I haven't seen him for years. How would you feel if that was you?”

“It wouldn't be,” Aleks replies, let's his unspoken 'because I'm always going to be with you’ settle between them.

“It'll take an hour and a half, if that,” as if that makes it any better. Aleks still wants to argue, but Trevor has gone quiet and he takes that as his cue to give it up. “I'll  _call_.”

They get dressed, James taking the time to tie his hair up to keep it out of his face, and Aleks lingers in the doorway watching. It's one of those moments were he wants to focus on this- just this- and not have to think about anything else, like everything terrible that's happened and all the good things too, because sometimes it feels as though James is the only thing that matters. Everything they've been through, it's hard not to look at him and the way he's aged significantly, and think about how lucky Aleks is to have him, and be able to stand here silent with him. They don't need to talk or laugh, any time they spend together is nice, at least to Aleks.

If he could've had this earlier, with someone else, he wouldn't take it. Every plan, every dream and thought of the future, was always codependent on James and him being there. There was never any option other than he and Aleks, and Trevor, and Ein. Being with them is right, or feels that way, and Aleks doesn't let himself think about it a lot, so he reserves quiet moments like this to reflect, to think about how lucky this all is.

James catches his eye in the mirror and holds the contact, doesn't let his focus drift. Aleks offers a smile, arms folded over his chest as he leans into the doorway, thinks about how weird it is to be here and to do this. Still, he can't imagine it any other way now that they're here.

“Ready?” Aleks asks, clears his throat.

“Yeah,” James says, almost absent-mindedly, like there's something missing but he's not quite sure what. Then, “Need to get my keys.”

He finds them in the kitchen on the bench, next to a bag of their empty containers from dinner the night before. Trevor said he'd get rid of it, which apparently means putting it somewhere clear in sight for James and Aleks to decide what to do with it. James gives it a tired look and sighs, but Aleks knows he'll take it with him and get rid of it instead of making Trevor do it. He’s trouble, and doesn't always do what they ask, but they like him too much to point that out.

“I'll see you in about an hour, the airport's not too far according to Brett,” James, pocketing his keys and grabbing the bag of takeout rubbish. “Can you walk Ein?”

“I'll get Trevor to do it, he doesn't have any plans today, anyway,” Aleks shrugs, leans back against the counter to talk to James. “Besides, he could use the fresh air.”

Ein claws at his leg as James’ as he makes his way to the front door, tugging it open with his phone in one hand, already beginning to sweat as the warmth from outside hits them. The air in the house is cool, which is probably why, when offered, Ein sits on the tiled floor near the staircase instead of following James’ outside. Aleks doesn't either, doesn't really see the need to, so holds onto the door and waves, calls out a, “Goodbye!” before closing the door when James unlocks his car.

_Are you ever going to tell him?_

Aleks’ phone suddenly goes off on the kitchen counter, Trevor sitting in the living room nearby eating his heated up leftovers from last night. He looks like he's going to make a move to answer Aleks’ phone by the time Aleks gets there, Ein at his heels before throwing herself onto the cool ground again. The number is unknown, but a quick glance at the list of numbers on the fridge reveals it to be Anna, from yesterday, so Aleks answers it and holds it up to his ear.

“Yeah, hello?”

She sounds out of breath on the other side of the line, the sound of what's likely car keys being grabbed is loud, when she finally says, “Aleks? This is important, I wouldn't call if it wasn't… where's James? Trust me, you need to- you need to get James. Get to James.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Aleks asks, but even he can hear the anxiety, the worry in his words. Trevor perks up, food forgotten in his lap. “James just left, he's gone to pick-”

His confusion drifts into confused understanding, his hand tightening around his phone as he makes his way to the front door, tries to run even though his legs are shaking so much they won't let him. It feels like every nightmare he's ever had in which he was too slow to stop something from happening, and it doesn't help that Anna starts screaming, like so loud Aleks hears ringing for a moment. He considers trying to ask her what's going on, why she called and how this could even be happening, but the doorknob is cold in his hand as he pulls it open, and his phone slips easily from his hand.

James’ car is stopped at the end of the street, its front buried in another car, and Aleks’ heart stops. Just stops, dead in his chest, so fast and sudden that he thinks he might be having a heart attack, pains and tightness tugging at him. From the living room, Trevor makes a single noise, one in his throat, and Aleks’ eyes burn, his nose crinkles up, his legs almost give out beneath him.

_That boy you love? He's going to die._

Aleks can't breathe.

 

* * *

 


	2. absence / alleviation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We could bring him back, you know. We could find a way,” Trevor says, the paper bag crinkling as he reaches into it. “A necromancer or wizard, or scientist, or whatever can bring people back from the dead. We could.”

* * *

 

 

**_ii._ **

 

_trevor._

 

 

absent / abs(ə)nt

“the state or condition in which something expected, wanted, or looked for is not present or does not exist.”

**_( absence._ **

**_example_** _. Then, Trevor glaring at Aleks before turning to his side like he could find James there and be able to ask ._ **_)_**

 

.

Aleks is stronger than Trevor remembers, his nails digging at Trevor's arm as he argues with a paramedic; a tall guy, wearing a hat and with his face void of any expression. For what it's worth, Trevor can't recall the last time Aleks was this way, with the loudness and yelling and anger so strong Trevor can almost feel it. Not in a psychic way, or something weird like that, but in a way that Aleks’ skin is hot to touch, and he doesn't stop trying to start a fight with everyone he sees.

They're standing in the street a few metres from James’ ruined car, away from their friend being wheeled into an ambulance on a stretcher. None of it feels real, but it also feels too much so in a way Trevor can't explain. So, he presses his face against Aleks’ back, doesn't stop himself from crying as Aleks’ words are slowly drowned out by sirens, by Trevor quietly sobbing against him. Fragments of sentences drift through Trevor's head, through his ears, and it brings him back to how numb he felt standing behind Aleks hearing the paramedic tell them James was already dead by the time they got there.

Aleks is still yelling, and some of it is in a language Trevor doesn't know and is glad he can't understand. It sounds rougher than the English; less aggressive and angry, more like heartbreak.

Trevor's hair tickles the back of Aleks' neck, his cheeks wet against Aleks’ shirt, and he can't keep himself from crying. Aleks went straight from shock to anger, the kind that had Trevor standing behind him for too long trying to figure out what he was supposed to do, to reflect on how he'd never see Aleks like this in all their years spent together. It's terrifying, how out of breath and empty his words are, and Trevor is still trying to helplessly wrench him away from everything. Like, the crowd of neighbours who don't know their names, the ambulance workers who are tired, James’ wrecked car, the glass on the floor, James lying dead in the back of the ambulance.

“Aleks, please,” Trevor tries, pleads with his face still wet against Aleks. Breathing is getting harder, and his chest is heavy as if weighed down with stones. “Please, stop. Stop, dude. Stop!”

In his grip, Aleks takes a deep breath, the action stuttering through his body. Trevor thinks he's probably trying not to cry, because Trevor was too before he realised it wasn't worth it. Or, before the reality of the situation settled in and he knew this was happening and there was nothing he could do, and how could they ever possibly learn how to live without James. Then, Trevor glaring at Aleks before turning to his side like he could find James there and be able to ask, and then he stumbled to Aleks and clung to his back.

All of it feels wrong, so, so wrong that it sticks in Trevor's mouth like taffy, makes him unable to say more than one last desperate plea for Aleks to stop. Aleks listens, relaxes though he's still tense, and Trevor focuses on him instead of James and car crashes and things being dead. He focuses on Aleks’ quickening breath, his small cries, instead of James being dead, James being gone, Aleks and his broken heart, Trevor and his shaking hands.

“Aleks, come on, dude!” Trevor tries, can't stop the way his words are parodied through his tears. His hand tugs on Aleks’ sleeve, can see how worn and tired the fabric is, and doesn't know if it's just old or if it's James; he really, really doesn't know what would be worse.

The crowd slowly dissipates, the ambulance driving off and Aleks standing broken in the street, Trevor trying to drag him back inside. People are staring, are watching, and it's too much between his social anxiety and what's just happened. Trevor's all too aware of how red and puffy his face must be, how wrecked and drained he must look to everyone, and it makes the desire to turn and run even greater. Except, Aleks is stuck in spot, James’ wrecked car visible, and Trevor can't leave him behind, he can't.

“Aleks!” he says, loud, and in one last desperate attempt to catch Aleks’ attention and drag him out of the state he's in.

Aleks stumbles forward, Trevor's grip on the back of his shirt holding him close and in place, and there's a sting in Trevor's eyes that are foretelling of more tears. So, he pulls, doesn't hesitate in tightening his hand where it's curled in Aleks’ shirt, and walking back a step to try and take Aleks with him. It works, for what it's worth, and Trevor let's go when Aleks turns to look at him, his face pale and blank, but his eyes… his eyes are red, wet but not yet from crying, and it hurts. It hurts, to see him like this. And to look at him and know James is dead, and it really is just them, and this is happening much slower than they describe in the film's.

“James-” Aleks tries, barely manages the one syllable before his voice cuts off, before he chokes on whatever he tried to say.

“I know,” Trevor says, swallows back another harmless sob. “I know, Aleks. I'm so sorry.”

When Aleks falls into him, he's heavy, like deadweight- _like James_. He stumbles like he's had a bit too much to drink, his shirt dropping to reveal his collarbones, and his hair a tossed mess. He doesn't quite look like grief or tragedy, which Trevor assumes he does himself with his crying and shouting and pressing himself to Aleks, but if they give him time, Trevor knows he will. Remembers last year when Ein got sick on the road and Aleks couldn't eat for the three days she was in the clinic, with James trying to take care of him to distract himself from Ein, and sick, and possible bad news.

No one died then, though someone somewhere in the world probably did, and they were all still a mess. Unshowered and unslept, and so tired everything felt a little heavy and a little hard to carry. Oh- _Ein_.

Thinking about her, at the other end of the street waiting for them to come home, breaks Trevor's heart all over again.

 

* * *

 

 

**_ii._ **

 

_aleks._

  


alleviation / əliːvɪˈeɪʃ(ə)n

noun

“the action or process of making suffering, deficiency, or a problem less severe.”

**_( alleviation._ **

**_example: “Aleks, I swear, he's still here somehow” . )_ **

.

Aleks knows grief, knows what it's like to feel like the world has tilted on its axis, or the air's been stolen and his lungs keep trying to find it, or like someone's there but not really there. He knows that, isn't a stranger to loss because it's a natural part of life, and most everyone's been there before. The world isn't kind enough to always give you people for your whole life, sometimes they go and they're just gone, or they go and you can't follow them. Aleks almost feels like he was waiting for this, for this joke of him falling in love to deliver a punchline; he never thought it would be this, couldn't have predicted this in a million years.

Aleks waited for James, and James died. Really, that feels like the universe winding back their fist and punching the air from his lungs. Like, God's sick joke, doing this. Giving him something worth making the effort for, giving him someone he thinks he might give the world for, then taking them before he has time to properly realise that-

Well, that he was in love with James. The heaviness of that is almost as hard to breathe through as Ein's cries from where she's sat in Trevor's lap, not understanding why they're like this. Worse, maybe, is Aleks knows he's been in love for months, and years, and he was too stupid and naive to realise. And, now that he has? Now that he did? James is lying cold on a morgue table, funeral preparations requested and phone calls home made. That breaks Aleks’ heart, feels as though someone has stuck a knife in his heart and twisted it a full one-eighty. Like, now that this has happened and he's here and he can't convince himself that this is a dream, his whole body burns.

His throat, like all those times crammed into small spaces at university with James as they sipped vodka, the pain at first like swallowing lit matches. Everything feels like that, a sensation of being burnt alive as he sits on the back porch, tries to ignore how much his own body doesn't feel like his own. He wants James, with his laugh and his cold hands and his presence. He wants James, when he was alive and okay, and this wasn't all happening in the worst possible way possible. (Aleks swallows harsh, keeps his mind off thoughts he used to have about he and James growing old together, instead keeps his attention on a bird across the yard.)

Trevor stands then, hands shaking and weak as he pushes himself off the ground. He sniffs once, hiccups around a small sob he tries to hold back, tries to not let escape. His face is red and blotchy, his eyes sore and bloodshot, harsher and more upset than Aleks has ever seen him.

“I'm going to- I'm going upstairs,” he says, and he barely makes it through his sentence. Ein trails after him, her nails clicking against the wood of the back porch, her pants only just louder than Trevor beginning to cry again as he walks inside, pulls the door shut behind himself with too much force.

Aleks doesn't know what to do, and knows he can't let this eat him alive because Trevor is grieving too, and Trevor needs him. Aleks can't shut down, can't lie awake all night pushing away images of James dead that seem to be plaguing his mind right now. That, and all the dreams Aleks once had for them; this place- this home- and when Aleks was younger and didn't want anything but to have James with him. Those seem like distant memories now, like they're outdated and impossible, because they are. It hurts, in an empty, aching way that Aleks can't begin to describe. _He misses James._

Knees pulled up to his chest, Aleks drops his head, let's his forehead press against his knees. It's only slightly uncomfortable, and pales in comparison to whatever other pain is currently demanding Aleks’ attention; both physical and emotionally. He cries, with his hands wrapped around his legs, his tears wet and warm, burning his eyes as he worries at his lip, keeps it as quiet as possible in case Trevor accidentally overhears. It's all too much, and he lifts his head and rubs at his eyes to work the tears from them. It doesn't work, his tears mostly dry now, his throat parched as he sobs, doing a bad job at keeping silent. It sounds ugly and choked, and at one brief point like he's laughing, a tsk-tsk sound forced out.

There's no end, not when he can hear the distant sounds of Trevor upstairs and crying, yelling, Ein barking at him.

Aleks thinks about James, that stupid, wheezy laugh of his that Aleks was always so fond of, and cries even harder. He can't help it, he can't, and the thought of never getting to hear it again tightens at his chest, has him clenching his teeth together.

.

“What are we going to do?” Trevor asks, raises a water bottle to his lips to make up for how much he's been crying. There's a certain naiveness in his words like he doesn't understand how hard it is for Aleks to start to even consider a future that doesn't have James in it.

Aleks, his hair a mess and his heartbreak evident: “What the fuck do you mean what are we going to do, Trevor?”

.

Time, admittedly, goes much faster without James. It probably has something to do with how much time they seem to spend sleeping, and eating only when they get so hungry they drag themselves into the empty state of the kitchen to find whatever will fill them up enough. It's weirdly cold around the house now, and Trevor will spend hours staring into space some days, like there's something there that Aleks can't see.

Other days, Trevor passes by James’ room- the one he never got to use, his only night in the house spent with Aleks- and finds Aleks sitting on the floor against the wall. Aleks will hear Trevor walk in, settle down beside him, and there's a certain solidarity that comes with experiencing this. It's a Wednesday when Aleks finally speaks, grabs Trevor's hand that he had settled in his lap, and wraps their fingers together. The room feels ten degrees colder suddenly, and Aleks focuses instead on how numb his body is against the wall and the floor.

“You know you don't…” Aleks says, the words hard to get out. “You don't have to handle this alone, you know, Trev. I'm here.”

“Sometimes it just- man, this sounds insane, but sometimes it feels like James is still here. I know that's so, so impossible, and dude, it's been hecking me up for weeks, but I swear, Aleks, I swear he's still here somehow,” Trevor says, the insistence in his voice a little more than difficult to ignore.

Aleks slides his hand back, sniffs and looks out the window to his right. “He's dead, Trevor,” he sighs. “And I know this is probably some fucked up coping method of yours, but I… I can't, Trevor. He's dead, I want to let him rest.”

Trevor nods, like he understands, but his expression is unsure; something twisted and uncertain about it, like he gets what Aleks means but wishes he would listen to him. Aleks gets it, isn't a stranger to being ignored or disregarded, but right now he can't. Really can't. Not when they still have yet to decide what to do with the body, and Aleks can't hear the word 'James’ and 'grave’ without his brain conjuring up images he'd have rather lived without. It's hard and painful, and he's trying to be here for Trevor the best he can but he doesn't even know how he himself is coping with this.

Maybe, in some sick way, he'd always assumed James would mourn him. Not that he wanted him to, not that he'd put enough thought into it to feel any particularly strong way about it, but when he imagined them someday dying, he just always figured James would miss him. Or, they'd be buried at the same time because God would take pity on them and strike them down together in some kind of twisted miracle. Really, Aleks thinks this might be enough to put an end to his hopeless pining, his being in love but always being forced to keep those words tucked under his tongue. Except, Trevor slides a little down the wall, puts the side of his head against Aleks’ shoulder, and Aleks knows that some part- every part- of him, will forever love James. And, God, that hurts and twists and leaves Aleks breathless and upset in a way he can't describe.

This is grief, and mourning, and heartbreak, and regret all in one. James is dead, cold and pale in a morgue waiting for Aleks to make the plans to put him to rest, and that on its own hurts. As though someone's taken all his insides and replaced them with newspaper, so he feels numb and empty and pained but he can't pinpoint the hurt. He remembers once when he was eleven, huddled in the corner of the ER after climbing, and falling off of, his neighbour's roof. No one's ever liked him for his intelligence, bruised and holding his hands against his aching ribs. Every doctor, with a flashlight in Aleks’ eyes and a blank stare on their face, asked how much it hurt; _scale of one to ten, one being none and ten being really bad- you can say ten._

He would say six or seven, a nice number not too close to either end of the scale, and they'd make a 'hmph’ noise in the back of their throat and leave. Now, with James dead and every chance they ever had buried, Aleks thinks this hurts like an eleven. They save ten’s for when you're dying, and it feels like that, just a little worse.

An _eleven_.

“You really don't think some people stay behind?” Trevor, his words huddled in a breath, eyelashes tickling against the bare of Aleks’ arm. “Like they don't go either place, if there's a heaven and a hell- some people just- they stay here. To look out for the people they love.”

“You think James would've chosen that?” Aleks asks, stares at the sunset illuminating the shadowed room. There's something eerie about the cool breeze, the quiet of the outside, and the conversation. It's funny, almost, how Aleks never could've seen this coming; funny in a devastating way, where he nearly wants to laugh at how tragic it all is.

Trevor closes his eyes, reaches for Aleks’ hand to intertwine their fingers for a moment. “I don't know,” he says, and his other hand moves to tug helplessly at his hair, “I don't know.”

The thing is, Trevor's young. Aleks has known him since he was a young- _younger_ \- teenager, with his hair cut short to his scalp and his laugh loud and not held back. Seeing him the way he is right now, with his fringe pushed back and stuck there from how long it's been since he washed it, the eyebags characteristic of their life on the road suddenly appearing again, his hands warm but shaking in Aleks- it makes Aleks upset for a whole new reason. They, being he and James, could've left Trevor behind with Dan and Jordan. He'd be better off there with them, maybe, but Aleks is too selfish in that he wouldn't change what they chose in the past. He'd always take Trevor with them, because he's meant to be here with them. And, because Aleks can't imagine going through this on his own.

If Trevor hadn't have dragged him away yesterday, he probably would've lied in the street and yelled until he lost his voice. He would've yelled and argued like the mere force of his anger would be strong enough to bring James back to life. That's grief, probably. Aleks knows it but it doesn't mean he's familiar with it, and it's not the kind of thing people are in any hurry to experience. Loving someone, wanting them for the rest of your life, isn't enough to keep them with you, or to stop death. It's not fault, but Aleks finds some peace in knowing there wasn't anything he could've done; if whatever forces out there wanted James dead, Aleks couldn't do anything. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, he-

“I like the idea of it,” Trevor says, sudden, shy. “James being here, even if he's, like… not really here. You know what I mean?”

Aleks nods, because it's a small comfort he can offer. Trevor seems pleased with it, tucks back against Aleks’ side reminiscent of all those times when James would take Ein for a walk so they'd sit and talk. About whatever, or whoever, and Trevor would yawn and rest his head against Aleks’ shoulder, Aleks allowing the silence between them to mean something good. It didn't happen too often, but Aleks has fond memories of that closeness, of Trevor young and naive, and his smile bright next to Aleks.

That, and the one time James visited home for a few days and Trevor wanted to take a trip to where he used to live with Dan and Jordan, so he and Aleks drove for three whole days. They ended up laughing over a bathroom sink in a cheap motel, gloves and bleach, and Trevor doing bad impersonations of old cartoon characters while Aleks tried to spread the bleach through his hair. They were a mess, Aleks hysterical and slightly drunk, Trevor sober and yelling at how much the bleach stung the skin near his sideburns. That's a fond memory that Aleks tucks away and thinks of every time he catches his reflection and his blonde hair, and the look on James’ face when they picked him up at a bus stop three days later. Him staring with narrowed eyes into the car, at Aleks in the passenger seat with his short, blonde hair, and Trevor in the back with his hair a faded orange.

Aleks can recall little details from those two days, like Trevor's throaty laugh, and James’ blank expression when he saw them. Things that are easy to forget usually, but have stuck in Aleks’ mind so clear they feel like they happened weeks ago and not a few months. His hair is slowly fading back, roots coming back in brown while the tips of his hair are yellowing. Trevor didn't like it too much, or how much younger it made him look, so it was back to its natural colour before Aleks could even realise. Aleks can see it now, a nice, soft brown, and getting long on top but still sort of short around the sides.

“I'm sorry,” Trevor murmurs, let's his face pressed slightly against Aleks’ shoulder muffle his speech. “About James. That you loved him and he-"

“Yeah,” Aleks interrupts, clears his throat of the sob buried in there. “I'm sorry, too, Trevor.”

_Are you ever going to tell him?_

Aleks turns his head towards Trevor, towards the doorway of his room, and presses his face slight into Trevor's soft hair. The gesture is nice, means he's here and they're friends and they have this, and each other, and Trevor shivers for a moment next to Aleks with the breeze tearing through the room. Aleks missed this closeness, because cars and long days spent driving don't leave a lot of room for closeness; for getting to sit here and think, and not have to concentrate too hard on everything going wrong, just on each other.

“It's cold,” Trevor sniffs, and Aleks’ eyes feel heavy as they close.

“Yeah, it is.”

.

Aleks wakes up to a cold floor, wind whistling through a window, James’ empty room around him. It's early in the morning, too early for the sun to be fully in the sky but enough to set a soft glow on everything. From where he is, James’ room near the back of the house, he can hear the sound of the back door being slid shut, Ein's muffled barks downstairs. The energy is hard to find, but he pulls himself off the ground and walks to the window in time to catch Trevor, wearing one of James’ old jackets that is almost too small on him, as he disappears into the trees.

James doesn't- _didn't_ \- have a lot of clothes, just pieces he's had for years coupled with bad tourist-y shirts with slogans and jokes written on them in an eyesore of a font, a pair of jeans he wore way too much, and an array of jackets he switched between depending on the weather. Trevor is wearing one of his older ones, that he had when he and Aleks had just met, and Aleks’ curiosity only barely overrides the ache that tightens at his heart. His hands on the windowsill shaking with what he can only describe at best as unnerving anxiety.

Except.

Except that every type of anxiety is unnerving, that's kind of what anxiety is in its simplest of terms.

His hands are shaking with anxiety, and he's unnerved, Aleks corrects himself, concentrates on the outside for long enough to allow the cool air to shake the dust in his lungs away. He's exhausted, but more than the usual type of exhaustion where he's so tired because he didn't sleep, or he kept waking up in the night, or when he would spend all night driving and focusing on the road and the lights for long enough to bring on a headache. This is more like: he slept on the floor of James’ room with James’ dog warm next to him, had to resist the urge to get up and walk around, or do something as simple as sleep. And, James’ possessions were so close all night that if Aleks wanted to, he could've reached across and grabbed them. Pulled one of James' shirts on, maybe, and cried himself to sleep because it either would or wouldn't smell like James.

Aleks doesn't know what's worse in that scenario, if not being able to remember simple things about James was any better compared to being able to remember so vividly with the scent wrapped all around him as he tried to sleep and not think about his dead friend. Not quite six feet under yet, not quite a pile of ash with only Trevor and Aleks to remember him… But, lying on a slab in a morgue waiting on paperwork Aleks was meant to decide what to do with a few days ago. He doesn't want to, and can't bring himself to ignore his mind trying to say this is a joke, a prank, a dream, he's died and gone to hell and this is the worst possible thing they could think of to punish him for how he chose to live his life.

Every thought in his head hurts more than the last, has him pulling away from the window and turning regretfully to James’ things, his clothes spilling out of a case he didn't get to close. Died before he could, Aleks reminds himself, and pulls at a shirt spilling out onto the floor. It's cool in his hands, the air around him cooler at once, goosebumps bringing him back into the moment. He becomes all too aware of what shirt it is he's holding, the connotations behind it. He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, or to pull it on over his own shirt and ignore the way it would feel against his skin.

He holds it in his hands, runs a thumb over a small expanse of the shirt. It's got a few small tears in it from age, the colour faded from the fabric. It was once a dark blue, like navy, but now it's more grey, with lines of other colours stained into it from being washed too often. There's a part near the bottom where the stitching of the hem was done purposefully to be decorative, like the ropes of a boat, to match the lighthouse printed on the front. It's a god-ugly shirt, one that Aleks laughed and begged James not to get with their shoes full of sand from the Maine beach, Aleks’ beanie soaking wet in his pocket where it fell off into the water and James heroically rescuing it with a stick.

“Sentimental bitch,” Aleks says, because he doesn't know what he's supposed to do right now. James’ shirt in his hands, Ein wandering into the room with her tongue doppily hanging out of her mouth. Aleks wonders if she misses James too, and if her uneasy way of falling to sleep is how she's mourning in her own way; Aleks doesn't quite know if dogs understand that sometimes when someone leaves and doesn't say goodbye, it means they're not coming back. That _James_ can't come back.

His eyes sting in the inner corners, and he blinks it away while knowing it'll come back eventually.

He leaves the shirt where it is, doesn't bother finding out if it smells reminiscent of James yet, and makes his way downstairs. The house is so empty it looks, and feels, as though no one's living in it. Which, isn't entirely wrong, when some days with Trevor it barely feels like existing in this house, more like piloting a body that he can no longer identify as his but is his nonetheless. He doesn't know how to describe it other than grief, and a better alternative to how he usually deals with things like this; steady mourning with crying and slow progress seems a hell of a lot better than drinking himself to sleep, at least.

Trevor mentions ghosts, and a possibility of some life after death where you get to choose to leave or stay, and Aleks knows James would leave; if all of it was real, or innately possible. No sane person would choose to watch their friends- their family, because after all the years on the road together that's what they were- deal with their death. If James is here… he isn't, Aleks barely entertains the idea long enough before a bottle Trevor has cleaned over by the sink slides off the counter and to the floor.

He must have left it too close to the edge, that combined with how empty and lightweight it is, and the wind coming through a nearby window. Aleks doesn't even want to consider anything Trevor's said for too long, looks at the bottle laying on the floor on its own and knows what Trevor would think is happening here. In situations like this, it's easy to lose your head, easy to cling to whatever makes you feel better, if it's heaven or an alternative to that, or a world in which people come back as non corporeal beings and watch their friends. Or _haunt_ their friends. There's just no fucking way, no possible way, but Aleks doesn't say it beyond his outburst yesterday. If Trevor, who is so young and so joyful even in the worst of times, wants to believe that, and keep faith that James is doomed here to watch them do absolutely nothing with their lives now that he's gone, he's free to do that.

Trevor, who is so quiet, holds everything inside so that it must be killing him, and who lets it slip sometimes, but is careful about it. This knowledge, and Aleks’ own inevitable guilt, makes him wish all the more than he could be more helpful in situations like this. It's hard to see beyond his own heartbreak at times, so much so he doesn't focus much on how quiet, teenaged Trevor is handling all of this on his own. By making up ghosts, considering a possibility of a heaven or an unnamed afterlife consideration program, that's how; things  that Aleks doesn't want to shoot down, but doesn't want to hear about. He'd rather not think about all that, honestly.

To his right, behind his back almost, Ein barks. It makes him miss James even more than he already does.

Her nails clicking against the door as she jumps at it, her hot pants leaving condensation on the glass, so Aleks gently pushes her away when he reaches her. There's a bird on the back lawn, near the stretch of dark forest, and Aleks needs to find Trevor, to bring him back to the house and give him a warm drink, and ask him why he thought it so necessary to take off so early in the morning.

Ein stays where she is, hesitant to leave even when Aleks struggles to close the door, leaves enough time for her to slide out it if she wanted to. She doesn't, but her eyes don't leave his as she watches him, and he turns to wave goodbye to her like James would do, if he were here and not… Aleks cuts off his own thought, hands reaching to find the pockets in his pants that aren't there, because he isn't wearing jeans. No solace for his cold hands, then, in the cold light of early morning, dew light and wet on the sneakers he forgot to take off before falling asleep last night. He's been more forgetful like that recently, but he somehow always remembers that James is dead, and there's been no reaching out for someone who isn't there anymore. He does, sometimes, but he doesn't want to think about.

Through the dirt, Trevor's footprints are new and visible, leaving a clear path for Aleks to follow.

He can hear the crunch of leaves under his feet the deeper he goes, and the cold breaks through his jacket and slide across his shirt making ripples, drifting across his skin like spiders. Confusion and fear of getting lost makes him stand still, completely, and he can hear leaves crunching under his feet even as he isn't walking. It's eerie, it's dark, there's something not right but he doesn't know how to say what it is or how-

“Trevor?” he's slightly out of breath, moving his hand to work his fingers through the top of his hair and flatten in down. He must look like a mess, but he figures considering everything it's excusable.

No one answers, just the wind.

Aleks stands there for a moment, his body lightly shaking, and he bounces ever so slightly on the balls of his feet. _Jesus_ , he's not waiting around to become wolf meal, Trevor probably knows where he's going, he'll be able to find his way back to the house better than Aleks himself will. He's never been great with direction, but he was good at the driving and the paying attention; now there's only quiet, a static-y silence that fizzles in his ears at the lack of sound. Aleks pulls his jacket further around him and squints up at a peak of sun cascading through the trees, and God, it's way too early to be awake right now, he really needs like, an eight hour nap. Maybe. The idea of it is too appealing for him to bother shooting down. Deciding that is as easy as calling out Trevor's name one last time, then turning and retreating back in the direction he came from.

He makes a small, mental note to not return to this forest. For whatever reason, he doesn't know exactly, but it makes him feel too uneasy on his feet, too unaware of his surroundings, though the trees aren't too thick that he can't see past and around them. James liked this house for the view they got of the forest, for all the room Ein would have to stretch her legs, for the porch that looked out onto all of this forested mystery. He only got to see it once, their first morning after they fell asleep on the floor of the living room, and Aleks would wake up half buried against a tired, but slowly waking James. They made it to the porch, tired but better. And they sat there against the wood, with sides barely touching, hands in their laps, Aleks’ curious eyes meeting James’ more than once.

Side-by-side, James with his slept in hair having fallen out, his t-shirt tucked into the jeans he fell asleep in the night previous. Aleks would've told him then, had he have known James would be dead a few hours later. He would've sat closer, would've stopped staring and said something- anything- just so James would've known, just so Aleks wouldn't be standing in the middle of the forest with his broken heart full of regret.

_Are you ever going to tell him?_

Aleks almost told James; but that almost is only an almost, that 'told’ was him biting the inside of his left cheek every time he looked at James and was overwhelmed by how much he loves him. Or, did, because James is dead, and not in the television show way where beloved fans kick up a fuss and the writers’ figure out how to bring them back realistically but not realistically. Like, he's dead, and Aleks doesn't know how he's meant to deal with it in a way that doesn't cause more hurt than healing, more pain than closure.

The edge of the forest is within view when he walks into someone, or more someone appears in front of him and they both start screaming and- Aleks’ heart is beating wildly fast, his hands reaching out to grab either side of the unzipped jacket of James’ that Trevor is wearing. They're both breathing heavy as Aleks finally manages, “It's me! Trevor, calm the fuck-”

“Oh, my god,” Trevor heaves, and ducks his head so that his fringe topples down his face. It's unbrushed and windswept, his hands shaking at his sides moving to press against his left breast. “Dude, I have a weak heart.”

Aleks would laugh if the circumstances were different, if James was over his shoulder entertained and Trevor wasn't out here probably mourning. That seems to be all they do these days, other than sleep and eat and argue on the days it gets bad. Those days, Trevor crying and Aleks trying not to, and staring at each other across from the room not knowing what to do but yell until they run out of things to say. Trevor will slide down the wall with a hand tangled on his hair, knees up to his chest, face red and sobs bubbling in his throat. Aleks will unclench his jaw, unclench his fists, and close his eyes while he leans against the kitchen counter until Trevor says, voice heartbreaking raw, “Aleks?”

“What are you doing all the way out here?” Aleks asks, and his hands don't move from where they're clasped in James’ jacket, or now, Trevor's.

“I-” Trevor, inhaling a large breath and letting his hands return to their homes at his sides. “I thought I saw James.”

It's enough that Aleks lets him go, stares with narrowed eyebrows because this is some sort of joke, or Trevor is sleep-deprived and seeing things. Dead people, he's seeing dead people and… God, that's a good movie.

Aleks presses the back of his hand to Trevor's forehead, brushing his fringe out of his face. He's warm, but not exceptionally enough that is any reason for concern or for Aleks to start fretting over him like he has the black plague or swine flu, or one of those really bad sicknesses that don't sound fun at all. Part of Aleks thinks Trevor might be right, though it's a small part that is choosing to let slight delusion win over logic, and the larger part that chalks this all down to a kind of coping method is very adamant in neglecting the small buzz of hope that maybe James is still around. Aleks hopes not, knows it's not true, but if it was, the days would be a little easier to get through, sleep wouldn't mean tossing and turning and trying not to dream about things he would prefer not to think about.

Like, dead things. Like, car crashes that leave no survivors. Like, morgues. Like, James being dead.

“Get some rest,” Aleks offers, and ignores Trevor's wide, sad eyes, his mouth opening instinctively like he wants to argue that he knows what he saw. “I'll order something for dinner, or whatever. What d’you feel like?”

.

Aleks’ hair is getting longer in James’ absence, fading blonde hair that's usually pushed back with his hand through habit, or kept in place with a cap. This is different, makes him feel even worse than he usually would when he didn't bother to get it cut, because he knows if James was here he'd have dragged Aleks to get it done. Or, Aleks would've caught his reflection one day and dragged himself to get it done, and James wouldn't say anything but he'd smile at him, and it'd all be worth it. And they'd take Trevor to get his done and laugh as he sat in the back and complained about how short it had gotten and now he'd have to shave because he looks stupid, like proper dumb, and how could they let this happen.

“He's still here, Aleks,” Trevor says, presence in the doorway of James’ room casting a shadow. “I'm not fucking with you? I think- I think after all that pretending to find ghosts with Dan and Jordan, I might actually be able to. Crazy as it sounds, man. Trust me on this?”

Aleks glances up at him, his hands pressing at the fabric of James’ old, dumb lighthouse shirt. His eyes burn, and his face feels hot, a weird prickling sensation that means he's going to cry, or about to, and he glances down instead. There's no pride in this, and he's cried enough in front of Trevor these past few weeks after James that hiding it now would seem stupid. Except, he knows it's a ridiculous thing to get upset over, and he worries at his bottom lip as he sniffs, just once but enough that Trevor's face instantly changes.

“Don't cry,” Trevor says, and it's so soft that Aleks lets go of a helpless sob. “Aleks, please, please don't-”

“I miss him,” he whispers, words torn apart by the tears he blinks out of his vision, fingers playing with a tear in James’ old shirt.

Trevor understands that more than anything, and he practically falls beside Aleks when he finally reached him, kneeling and letting a hand grab at Aleks’ furthest shoulder, face pressed into Aleks’ hair. They're quiet, and Aleks leans against the warmth of Trevor's figure, cries as quietly as he can into Trevor's chest, James’ shirt fisted in one hand.

“You know I love you?” Aleks tries, though his voice is strained and watery.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, man,” Trevor says, but his voice sounds far away. “Don't worry, I do.”

.

Aleks’ hands are shaking around the glass in his hand, his other on the handle of a tap. He's just woken up, carried himself downstairs for a drink because he genuinely can't remember the last time he had anything to drink other than early yesterday; Ein cries at nothing, Aleks tightens his hand around his glass.

“James isn't here,” he says, and Ein howls, too unlike her usual excitable sounds. “You dumb dog, he's not here.”

The glass is heavy in his hands, his jaw clenched, and he turns to the cabinets and throws the glass, shields his face from the pieces that fly back. It shatters everywhere, Ein barks, and Aleks stares at the mess before he grips the counter, let's his feet carry him out of the kitchen away from the pieces of glass, towards James’ dog crying and barking, and throwing herself at Aleks’ legs as he tries to walk.

He's not going to cry, he's not going to-

“I'm sorry,” he says, to Ein, and she goes quiet at his feet.

He might cry.

.

“We could bring him back, you know.”

It's a Tuesday, a hat strategically placed on Aleks’ head to hide his dirty hair. Trevor's looks better, clean and soft, but his face is more mature than it was months ago, which is more unsettling than bad hygiene, if Aleks is being honest. Trevor has his hand in a bag of cold Chinese food they've just had delivered, Aleks sitting on a bench across from him as he watches, listens. The tone in Trevor's voice says he knows what he's suggesting, that it really isn't as out of the blue to say as he thinks. Aleks assumes he could probably glance at his search history and see a few for resurrection spells, or some kind of 'ask the witch’ hotline that Aleks thinks is more than likely total bullshit.

“We could find a way,” Trevor says, the paper bag crinkling as he reaches into it. “A necromancer or wizard, or scientist, or whatever can bring people back from the dead. We _could_.”

Aleks doesn't know what to say, so at first he's quiet, let's the lack of conversation say more than he could. Sometimes it's better to let things rest, no matter how much you miss them. Still, Aleks’ hands and breath are unsteady as he thinks about it, considers putting his faith and trust in something so ridiculous it might almost work. Almost, being the keyword. He's heard the stories before, but he's never put enough thought into them to know if they're true, or if he should just discredit them the way he does with ghosts. Maybe ghosts exist, but he doesn't think- no, he knows- that James isn't one, and the thought of him having died then having to get stuck watching his friends fall apart without him… Aleks can't think of anything worse, other than being one of those friends falling apart.

“Can you still feel him?” Aleks asks, casts a cautious glance at Trevor. Trevor, who's been seeing ghosts for years apparently, and has made seeing James a habit these days. Aleks doesn't know if he doesn't believe in ghosts, or if he just doesn't want to; Trevor's already made up his mind on what he believes in.

“Most of the time, he's with you,” Trevor says, and there's a careful nonchalance to his words that Aleks knows is intentional.

Aleks takes one of the food containers Trevor slides across the counter to him and nods, tries not to focus on that. James, as a ghost, with Aleks. Which, if ghosts are real and James is one, means he's probably seen more than Aleks is comfortable with; the crying, the fits of anger that are hollow, the whispered conversations with Trevor about how much he wishes he could've said while Trevor plays with his hands and nods in understanding. Those, and Aleks staring at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror, talking himself out of lying down all day and letting Trevor deal with this all on his own. And, the worst of all, but all those hours Aleks has sat going through James' possessions and crying, pressing his face against James’ shirts or against the wooden floors.

Any of those, which are all a pretty good pick because they're just as embarrassing as each other. They shouldn't be, really, because James is dead and all of this Aleks assumes is normal when the boy you love dies; the crying, the hours spent throwing water on his face so he can go talk to Trevor without looking like he hasn't slept, the times he stares at the wall until his eyes get so heavy they fall shut on their own. Aleks doesn't know what to do with all of this, the memories and the hurt and Trevor, so he takes a bite of his cold food with a wince.

“I'll, uh, I'll look into it,” he promises.

Trevor looks at him surprised, but he smiles and the sight of him even the slightest bit happy for the first time since James died, is enough to make Aleks want to do more than promise. He'll do it, for James who is dead, and for Trevor who misses him, and for Aleks himself who let too much between he and James go unsaid.

No regrets, not again.

.

Brett is exactly the opposite to how Aleks would've assumed he looked, or spoken, or acted. He's only just shorter, but not too noticeably so, and he's much older than Aleks would've figured. None of it's in a particularly bad way, and he does seem like exactly the kind of guy James might've been friends with during his years of online correspondence with Aleks. He's nice, bottom-line, even though Aleks is finding it hard to not immediately blame Brett; Aleks is rational, he knows it's not Brett's fault, but grief needs a reason in the same way it needs an outlet.

“You called me out here for what?” Brett says, a little loud, and his eyes are narrowed, hands settling on his hips, to show just how crazy he finds it.

And, okay, this is the crazy part because Aleks can't do this alone. He thought he could, really, but he won't force Trevor to do it, and Lindsey is only his landlord, and Anna's whole predicting James’ death kind of creeps Aleks out, so he called Brett. Like, rummaged through James’ stuff for where he'd- hopefully- scribbled down everyone's numbers. That's what phones are there for, James’ past voice reminds Aleks, as he finds a small book under some clothes that only has ‘#’ written on the front.

 _Score_.

Aleks calls him, says, “This is Aleks-” and Brett interrupts him with, “I know who you are, you think James never mentioned you?”

So, all things considered, and James being dead so Aleks having to call his old friend, things are going well. Exceptionally so, if Aleks doesn't count the fact they're breaking into a morgue with a necromancer named Asher- what kind of fucking name is that, though, pray tell- and Trevor has started talking to himself in the time it took Aleks to set all this up. This being finding someone willing to try their hand at resurrecting James, calling Brett, convincing him to help, and finding out the hospital's closing hours so they can sneak in and… Brett says it's breaking and entering, even if for a good cause.

Then, resurrect James. Bring James back to life. Tell James, his now slightly undead best friend that _ya ne mogu zhit’ bez tebya_ and wait for him to figure out what it means, let James be the coward for once. Or, wait until Aleks is probably crying and probably a little inconsolable, and tells James he loves him, in English, at least a hundred times before they're even out of the morgue where James would've spent a little while of his foreseeable future if Aleks hadn't brought him back, with the help of Asher and Brett.

It's a good plan if a little flawed, but it'll work. Working is all they need now, they can work on the rest later when James is alive and well, wearing his favourite pair of jeans and that stupid lighthouse t-shirt because Aleks will have to take clothes for him. He has to; James can't really walk around naked all night until they get home, and Aleks has the lighthouse shirt falling slightly out of his pocket so he figures it won't hurt to give James that. That, and he wants to know if James remembers anything from before, because he made the mistake of looking it up and there's a small chance of him losing his memories.

A small chance, but all Aleks hears with that is that James might come back not knowing who he is and why they're there. That might hurt worse than his initial death, looking at him and his eyes, and seeing in his face that he can't remember who Aleks is.

This plan is how Aleks ends up with Brett in a morgue at three in the morning waiting for a necromancer to show up.

He does, but Aleks tenses up as he approaches because some weird, ignorant part of him expecting Asher to be wearing a long black robe or cloak. He's just wearing jeans and a shirt with an eyesore of a pattern, and some sneakers. Not exactly what he expected from a necromancer who's going to resurrect his dead friend, but Aleks will take what he can get.

“You don't look like a necromancer,” Aleks says, before he's able to stop himself from voicing his opinions aloud.

“You don't look like the kind of guy who knows what a necromancer is.” _Touche_.

Brett laughs, and his face goes a little red, and then he's motioning for Asher the Necromancer to lead the way. It all feels a little like a dream, the standing here and the going to say goodbye to Trevor who was deep into a conversation with a wall of nothing. James’ whole death seemed like a dream, too, and Aleks screams loudly in his head in hopes that if he is really dreaming, maybe that'll wake his awake self up in turn to put an end to this. He'd really like to see James again, his alive, beautiful James, but he just wants him alive first.

It's Brett who puts an arm out to stop Aleks from following Asher into the morgue, and Aleks pauses, eyebrows drawn into confusion as he looks to Brett at his side. This was Trevor's idea but now he's seeing ghosts, so it's Aleks’ idea, and he has half a mind to shove Brett's arm aside if he wasn't so certain Brett was doing this to be nice. Maybe he knows, of what of Aleks can't be sure, but he's standing in the darkly lit hallway of a morgue wondering if alive-but-once-dead James’ lips will be cold, and if he'll remember Aleks for long enough for Aleks to tell him he loves him.

No regrets, Aleks reminds himself.

“I'll take care of it, you wait out here and keep a lookout,” Brett says- offers- and he takes a step towards the door when Aleks finally finds his voice.

“James is my friend,” he chokes, stumbles on a step forward so much Brett has to lean towards him to help steady him. “James is my best friend, Brett. I'm coming in there with you.”

Brett's face looks like he wants to ask if Aleks has been drinking, but instead he nods, let's his hand hover close to Aleks in the possible event that he trips over his own feet again. Which, considering lack of sleep and Trevor talking all through the night to the walls, the stairs, the built-in closet in James’ room, might just be possible. Aleks didn't even drive here, not after James, so the fifty minute walk here and his already overhanging exhaustion, means he's doomed to lose the ability to walk and focus any second now. The only thing keeping him going is James, and being able to bring him back, something Aleks wants more than anything.

Brett moves his arm and hand back to his side, his features still twisted in concern, as he lets Aleks follow Asher into the room. It's bleached white with those stupid silver box things that hold bodies that Aleks can't remember for the life of him what they're called. But, he can see Asher in the corner tug at one and pull it open, and Aleks’ heart beats so fast it might take a runner out of his chest.

James’ body is draped in plastic, but tendrils of hair are falling out the side, his feet visible at the bottom. Aleks thinks he might be sick, even more so when Asher pinches the plastic, says, “Look away if you're squeamish,” then slides it down to above James’ bellybutton.

If it weren't for the fact he's dead, James would seem pretty peaceful lying there like that. Except, his body is bruised and slightly charred, broken skin painful and so very there that Aleks can't ignore it even if he tried. Through instinct, or needing something to ground himself, he grabs at Brett's arm, notices the way Brett let's it happen like Aleks is a kid in a movie theatre with a parent, and said parent understands that he's scared. Aleks isn't scared, but anxiety and something like dread churn in his belly, leave his hands shaking as they hold onto the lower of Brett's arm.

“I'll do my best,” Asher says, casts them a cautious glance, “but if he's already moved on, there isn't much I can do for him.”

Aleks closes his eyes, listens to Asher speaking in tongues he doesn't understand and won't make an attempt to try to. The air is colder, suddenly, and Aleks’ whole body involuntarily shivers. Beside him, Brett is still and staring at James, and there's something so oddly intimate about meeting a stranger and clinging onto them as you wait for a necromancer to bring back the love of your life. Aleks is now aware of how cliche this all is, like the plot of one of those TV soaps that Trevor used to watch because it's usually the only channel they got on the road at motels. Actually, Aleks is pretty sure he's seen this exact thing happen on there once, seriously.

When Aleks opens his eyes next to the quiet, there is colour back in James’ skin, his fingers twitching slightly but enough to be alive, and Aleks shifts his eyes to meet Asher's hopeful gaze.

“Holy shit,” Aleks breathes, at first almost too scared to talk. He presses into the skin of Brett's arm with his fingers, as a small outlet for his nerves ,and manages a soft, “James?”

He's rewarded with mostly silence, then James’ eyelids try to lift, and he opens his mouth to inhale deep. Aleks can see his chest rise and fall, and his legs shake so much underneath him that Brett has to help hold him steady in the possible event that he falls and breaks his head open. Then they'd have to bring his dumb ass back too, and that wouldn't be a lot of fun, Aleks can imagine.

“James?” he tries again.

James is quiet, but alive, and Aleks’ heart almost stops when he sees James’ hand reach out, can see his chest rise and fall and his lips partly slightly.

A voice, unused and unsure: “Aleksandr?”

_._

_earlier - 2015._

Things fall apart slowly, as they always do.

James is all exhausted energy, too tired to even sleep some days, and he says he had a nightmare about cars and crashes, and Aleks knows because he has them too. When they were with Dan and Jordan, and Aleks would wake up in the early hours of morning trying to remember something as simple as breathing. Ghosts, demons, a truck hitting the van and James dying, always dying, so much so that Aleks leaves sleep for the mornings.

Dreams about hauntings and your best friend dying are a lot easier to handle when you can wake up with the sun in your eyes and said best friend alive and driving next to you. Aleks still wakes up in a cold sweat, a hand going straight to his heart to feel how fast it beats against his chest, his palm.

Aleks doesn't believe in ghosts, or heaven; it's interesting, is what his sixteen year old self would say, but that's all, an interesting thing- myth, tale, whatever- to think about. James is a little more convinced of the possibility of life after death, of souls that get trapped on earth when they're supposed to go somewhere else. Somewhere else that, unfortunately, Aleks is also skeptical of. He's always put his faith elsewhere, not in fate or the powers that be. It's a nice philosophy, granted, and it's easier to swallow certain truths if you can convince yourself God or destiny made it happen.

“That'd suck,” James says one time, with Trevor in the back telling him about one time when a ghost screamed right in his ear when he was with Dan and Jordan. “I guess, it's, like, good that you have that experience, you know? You believe they exist because of that, that's pretty darn cool.”

Aleks sighs in the passenger seat, pushing himself up to sit properly instead of being awkwardly propped in a position only suitable for uncomfortable sleep. “You believe him?” earns him a small, curious, and disapproving, glance from James in the driver's seat.

“Yes, Aleksandr,” James says, turns to his left to check for traffic. “You think he'd lie?”

End of conversation, apparently, because Trevor starts talking about McDonald's and James promises if he'll see one, they can stop for something. They all know they won't, but the idea of pulling into a random McDonald's drive-thru while on the way to their destination is nice, makes it seem more like a road trip and not a teenager and two young adults running away from every turn life offers them.

Aleks closes his eyes in the passenger seat, head against the door and the sun burning colour into the black of near unconsciousness. In his dreams, it is always daytime, always bright and sunny and warm, and one of them who is always James never makes it back. Dreams have a weird way of doing that; playing on your existing fears or worries, making you only that more concerned about them becoming real.

Life is only temporary, Aleks just hopes that if someone does dies, he gets to say goodbye. That seems reasonable, seems possible. He also hopes it doesn't happen like his brain keeps showing him, with a scream and a crash, and then darkness. That'd literally be the worst, seriously.

“You keep eating like that, you'll die young, Trevor,” James says, as Trevor opens the last bag of chocolate they keep stored under the seat.

“Shut up,” Trevor laughs, a grin stretching his lips. “You're the one that's gonna die young, man.”

Aleks pushes his fringe away from his forehead, feeling sick. The car rocks unsteadily on the back roads, currently flanked by farmland and large mountains planted far off in the distance. Aleks doesn't even know where they're supposed to be, but he guesses it's somewhere that'll be cold when, or if, they get out of the car. A stop would be nice, for Ein. And so Aleks can clear his head.

Things fall apart slowly, as they always do.

A nightmare has Aleks jerking suddenly awake in the passenger seat, James slowing the car down so he can look at him. Trevor is asleep in the back, Ein snoring deeply while stretched across his lap, and Aleks needs a moment to breathe. Just a moment, so he and James can swap places and James can have a rest. He's been driving all day, he deserves it, and it would've happened a lot sooner had James not let Aleks sleep so much.

“You should've woken me,” he says, and James shrugs.

“Figured you could've used the rest, you look like shit.”

The image of James behind the wheel is maybe more unsettling than Aleks’ initial dream; Aleks doesn't make a habit of predicting anything, because that sounds ridiculous and he doesn't even want to be able to, but it's enough for him to tell James to pull over. Aleks thinks he might be sick, or at least need a moment to throw some water on his face and a little into his mouth, and focus on something other than dreams about death.

“Let me drive,” he says, and James must not think it's worth arguing over because he doesn't try, just unclicks his seatbelt and meets Aleks’ gaze. There's a worried look there that Aleks is going to choose to ignore.

They're only nightmares.

They'll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chapter left!! it's a long one :D  
> i hope you enjoyed this and thank you so, so much for all your kind words?? i appreciate it a lot  ♡. third chapter is still a wip but it's getting there. follow me on tumblr or talk to me or whatever u feel like @gavinsaleks.
> 
> thanks !!  
> \- rachel.


	3. revenant / epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By Aleks’ feet, the Maine shirt is wrinkled on the floor. James can't remember leaving it there, which means Aleks probably took it and accidentally left it where it is, for whatever reason James doesn't know. But, it's very obviously there, and James’ heart tightens with an emotion he can't describe when he sees it, thinks about that day in the shop with Aleks. It shouldn't be that important, really, but it is so much so that its relevance is hard to ignore or just tuck into the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ajksjj shows up late to my own fic with starbucks. i'm sorry this took so long omg, but over 30k.... there we go. this chapter was originally meant to be longer because i was going to include a flashback-ish to Exactly what happened in maine but decided to cut that and make it a separate thing instead!! so now this is an accidental series after i told myself I'd take a break from writing.  
> i have read this over literally once so all mistakes and typos are mine, though i tried to get as many as possible. i really hope you enjoy this ! and it's been super fun to write this fic so thank you so much.  ♡.
> 
> \- rachel.

**iii.**

 

**james.**

 

revenant / rɛv(ə)nənt  
noun  
“a person who has returned, especially supposedly from the dead.”

**_( revenant._ **

**_example. his heart shouldn't feel this alive, this present, when it likely hasn't been for weeks at this point . )_ **

 

_now._

The darkness of not truly existing- more like something caught between what it, they, _he_ , don't know- becomes a more steady awareness, like sleep paralysis when the room is all dark and you can't move even though you're awake. If James could compare it to anything, he'd compare it to that. Being asleep but awake, stuck in that nonlinear in between trying to wake up, trying to shout or scream or move, but not being able to.

Ghost, ghost, ghost, _dead_.

There are fingers pressing as his shoulder, dragging him from the torment and confusion of his thoughts to his now-alive heart pumping blood back through his body. His head hurts, like it should be split in half and his ribs should be broken, but they aren't. An in between, that's what this is. He tries to rationalise it as best he can, prods the part of his brain labelled 'memory’ to find out how this could be, but is only rewarded with flashes of images.

Aleks, Aleks, more Aleks, Trevor, Ein, Trevor, Aleks, Aleks, Aleks, Brett, a goodbye, a car, a-

 _Dead_.

Aleks, he remembers Aleks. With his blonde hair, and James with an unrecognisable desperation to touch him, to talk to him, to just be with and around him again. So much so that it hurts. More than the headache knocking against his skull, or trying to put his hands on something only for them to go straight through, or Trevor always finding him. In the stairwell, in the forest, sitting in a closet trying to will himself into being.

Trevor, staring right at James with his voice choked, his mouth barely forming the words to say, “James?”

Aleks, curled in the corner, or screaming back at Trevor who's yelling at him, throwing glasses and plates, ignoring shadows, wearing clothes that aren't his- it all comes back at once, deafening to the point of him hardly hearing Aleks talk from somewhere in the darkness that James can't yet see.

_James?_

James opens his eyes to the bright bleached white of what looks like a hospital but smells more like rot, more like the highway when there's roadkill on it; like something dead. God, please don't be fucking dead, James begs himself, and spreads his fingers out to bring life back into them. His eyes are seeing through film, too black and white to make out much, until colour slowly starts to seep back in. His throat feels unused, sore, dry, and his brain is working so hard to piece together everything that trying to talk seems like the least of his worries.

_James?_

He adjusts to the light, to the unfamiliarity, and he moves his head briefly to the side with a sickening creak. Bones are still intact, body is still able to move, he can still see and hear even if both of those things are currently a work in progress. This is better, this is manageable, this is easier than metaphorically filling sheets and only being able to observe what was once his, hands shaking and skin pale and… now that he thinks about it, he doesn't know if that body was even his.

James reaches a hand into what was once nothingness, what is now light and aliveness and his lungs learning to filter air again. His voice sounds drowned in his ears, and unlike his own, when he manages to say, “Aleksandr?”

What's underneath him is cold against his bare back, his whole body heavy and hard to move. Under the circumstances, of which he isn't entirely sure of, he thinks he's doing considerably well. Even if he's finding it difficult to take meaningful breaths, and more so difficult to ignore the sting of what he knows are tears burning in his eyes.

“James!”

Aleks’ hair is more brown than blonde, making him look more like he did when they met as he comes into view. He's wearing an old shirt, that James can't remember if it belongs to him or to Aleks, and he looks exhausted. Exhausted like, his face is older and more tired, his skin is pale- or, paler than usual- and he doesn't seem entirely like himself. Still, James takes a moment to admire the baginess of his shirt, his hair pressed flat on one side and the other part tossed carelessly from what must have been hours of habitory playing his fingers through it.

Aleks is there, and close, before James can blink. He's not sure if he even can at this point, eyelids permanently heavy but not in that way, and he focuses instead on the hand Aleks has tangled through his hair. He's smiling, lips parted to reveal teeth, with a fond look tucked somewhere into the expression; he's staring at James as though he's struck gold, or something similar to that.

James tests his mouth, pushes the corners of his mouth out in what he hopes is reflective of Aleks’ smile. This will take some getting used to, but Aleks loops a curl of James’ hair around his index finger and his other fingers press comfortingly against James’ scalp, and he's not all too desperate to get used to all of this. Aleks, that he could get used to; the waking up with half-baked memories of what might've been some kind of existence? He's not entirely sure about that, but he's willing to give it a try.

“We'll give you some time alone,” Brett says, even though he sounds as though there's more he wants to say queued at the back of his throat. “Asher, c’mon.”

“Oh, Brett?” Aleks, not moving away from James even as he turns his head towards the door. His voice is soft, grateful, and James finds himself wanting to pull him in and bury his face into the crook of his neck, make up for all this lost time he can't yet recall in full. “Thank you.”

Brett smiles, forced but there, and disappears around the corner with Asher, hands tucked into his pocket haphazardly.

Aleks inhales deeply, his fingers in James’ hair still twisting and playing, and brushing gently at his scalp. It's nice, not all too familiar that James can remember but an action that makes him want to stay here forever, staring at Aleks still staring at the doorway. There's something heavyset in his gaze, eyes glazed over but not wet, or too bloodshot, just sad, or upset, or one of those words James’ brain is attempting to slowly relearn as he sits nearly naked on this bench. That, and how he ended up here, with Aleks looking like that, and distant memories of Trevor tucked away.

_Not dead, not a ghost, probably not a zombie, maybe was dead, maybe was a ghost, now alive?_

“You scared the-” Aleks tries, laughs around a sob he easily disguises. “Holy shit, dude. I'm having like, heart palpitations, right now. Seriously. I think I might-”

“Are you alright?” James says, and winces at how unused and rough his voice sounds amidst the concern.

“I should probably be asking you that, I think? Considering fucking everything that's happened and you dying and waking up here, and Jesus Christ. Dude, I'm straight up going to pass out right here.”

Despite his shaky hands, his sweaty palms, the panicked, breathy way he's speaking, Aleks doesn't remove his hand from James’ hair. It stays there, gently tugging at unbrushed, unwashed curls, and bringing a kind of comfort to James that he can't describe. It's not that they're used to this affection, but James doesn't mind it, and silently hopes that Aleks keeps his hand exactly where it is. Even if he looks like his legs are willing to give up underneath him any second now, his phone ignored in his pocket where it's ringing.

Aleks never picks up his phone, James knows this. James knows this because he's known Aleks for years, because they've been best friends since Aleks was a teenager with a bad haircut and a habit of making fun of James’ typos, because… well, that's the thing. James wracks his brain, picks and pulls where he can, because there's another reason he knows everything about Aleks and it's not for those reasons. It's because-

 _Oh_.

Aleks never picks up his phone, he keeps the blonde in his hair because he's gotten too used it to not, his idea of Mexican food is dragging James to Taco Belle so he can order fries, he likes the snow and the cold and borrowing James’ clothes, he taught Trevor the Russian alphabet on his eighteenth birthday because they were bored, he stares at James a lot, and James knows all this.

Facts, fragments, all shoved into that part of his mind he reserves solely for Aleks. Aleks, coughing wildly under James’ desk as they drink enough vodka to warrant drunkenness, Aleks with his hands snaked up the bottom of James’ jacket because they were cold, Aleks staring, Aleks with his head on James’ shoulder, Aleks with his fingers pushing through a tired James’ hair, Aleks pressing a kiss to Ein's fur, Aleks, and Aleks, and James thinking things he probably shouldn't. Too fond, that's what he used to tell himself, as he watched Aleks, made a map of his face so he could never forget it, thought about those times he would smile and all those times James would imagine kissing it away. Not away, maybe instead into a temporary hibernation.

“Aleks?” James says, and the sound of the air-conditioning turning on sends an involuntary chill down his back.

“Yeah?”

James watches, because he can, the way Aleks turns to look at him. His hair is even more messy on that one side than it was, his tattoos peeking out from under his shirt around his wrists, and James understands what he meant about those heart palpitations. His heart shouldn't feel this alive, this present, when it likely hasn't been for weeks at this point. James doesn't understand the way the air gets tighter when Aleks pulls his hand from James’ hair, let's it instead brush against his cheek for a moment that doesn't last as long as it should.

“Thanks, for, well, you know,” he tries, and Aleks’ smile in return is full of pity and something more heartbreaking. “It's nice to see you.”

At that, Aleks pauses, his smile shrinking, his eyes going distant. James doesn't fully understand what he said until he suddenly does, eyes catching on the way Aleks bites gently into his bottom lip, avoids glancing at James like it'll only hurt.

“I'm sorry-”

“It's nice to see you, too, James,” Aleks interrupts, and this smile doesn't reach his eyes but it's sweet, and sad, and James wants to kiss the dried tear stains visible on his cheeks in the light. “Alive,” he adds quietly, with a forced humour in his words like it doesn't hurt to say, and like he doesn't look as though he's been to hell and back these last few weeks.

James reaches over to grab his hand, doesn't intertwine their fingers but instead grips at Aleks’ wrist. It's a little too desperate and too tight, but touching him makes this all so much more real. It's good, it's familiar, it breaks James’ heart for some reason he can't explain. Maybe it's the tears in Aleks’ eyes he is trying to blink away without making it too noticeable what he's doing, or the soft, slow way his eyes move to regard James as he feels the presence on his wrist settle for a few seconds. In itself, it's enough to want James to pull him in close, but something forbids him.

“James,” Aleks whispers, and this time, it's said in a way James has never heard before. Utterly wrecked, continuing to chew at his lip like it'll help, and there's no humour behind it.

Aleks is all humour, all jokes and laughs and energy, but he says James’ name like the ghost of a prayer, smooth but full, and James can't find his Aleks in there. It's his Aleks, of course, but not completely; there's something sad in there, something that splinters at James’ heart as he replays it in his head on a slow loop. He doesn't know what to do, which seems to be a regular occurrence for him based on the memories being pushed forward at the thought.

He wants to cry, but instead he squeezes gently at Aleks’ hand, blinks a few times just to get used to the sensation.

Aleks licks his bottom lip so subtle that James almost misses it, but not subtle enough that James doesn't see and focus on it. Just a little, to drag his attention away from Aleks and the way the bright lights show his old tears, and the signs of aging that James hasn't noticed before.

They've been getting old together for nine years, changing and growing and settling into a routine with each other. If James’ memory serves right, they had plans for that, for getting properly old together while Trevor didn't for a reason James can't explain. Never finding anyone else to be with, just staying together until the universe gave them a good enough reason not to. Dying, maybe, which James thinks he's done already. In all honesty, he's not surprised that Aleks wouldn't take that as an answer to the questions that seemed to haunt them. If they'd get a house, if one of them would ever meet someone else and leave, and if they'd be together, side-by-side, in forty or so years.

Aleks pulls a shirt from his back pocket, wrinkled and the fabric stretched and faded from years of use, and there's a pained, though nostalgic, expression on his face. As if looking at it hurts too much, even with James alive and in front of him, and James knows why, can recall distantly an afternoon on a beach with Aleks’ wet beanie dripping wet on the end of a stick, and Aleks laughing with his eyes crinkled as James held up a lighthouse shirt in front of himself.

He suspects all of this will hurt for a while, if not forever. James died- he thinks- and Aleks has been surviving without him for weeks, not knowing on this particular morning he'd be standing with his now-alive James. It's hard for James to fully wrap his mind around, but he takes the shirt, presses his finger at a hole in the shoulder, and ignores Aleks watching him with his eyes soft.

He doesn't remember much, but he remembers Aleks; remembers that he loves him.

That's enough.

.

James’ memories come back to him in a matter of hours, pieces and blinks and flashes of things he should remember but doesn't entirely. By the time he and Aleks have let a silence drift between them- James is dressed and sitting on the floor against the wall, Aleks next to him with his hand playing with a rip in James’ jeans- James is almost entirely sure there's nothing more he's forgotten. Small details, maybe, or things that he's subconsciously decided he'd rather not remember.

There was a choice, he knows that. Aleks’ index finger prods at the strain of fabric over James’ knee where his jeans are torn slightly, and James gets a flash of a car, then a pull towards something that wasn't Aleks, was something different and warm and safe, where he could be alive and happy… naturally, and it wasn't even a choice, in actuality, he chose to stay. There was no bright light, no voice of God, just a tug in his chest towards a thing he can't describe, and his own feet planted firm on the ground in front of Aleks.

That wasn't a choice, really.

It felt like that for a while, a turbulent pull in the opposite direction of Aleks, who made it so much harder for James to see and still decide to stay there. Aleks, crying and yelling and so torn up at times that James could only hope to touch him, to get close without making the whole room colder with his presence.

There wasn't a choice, really.

Standing near the wreck of his car, a paramedic putting his body on a stretcher. His dead body, with his hair matted and undone, and skin too bruised for James to even possibly believe he had a chance of being alive. Standing near the wreck of his car, Aleks there too suddenly and yelling, not quite understanding why they couldn't find a pulse, why they couldn't do anything for James who he-

Aleks would stop himself there, the last few unsaid words brewing sickeningly in James’ chest. Trevor, begging and pleading and crying, and his hands tight around Aleks’ middle as he tried to help him, tried to convince him to go back inside the house. All of it, and the sight of himself dead in the back of ambulance, was more than enough nightmare material to last James for the rest of his life. Except, ghosts don't sleep, they don't need to do anything other than sit and stare, and talk to their friend who can see them. “I always believed you,” James told Trevor, ignored how cold his own skin felt. “About the ghosts, I knew you were right.”

There wasn't a choice, really.

_Sentimental bitch._

“Why this shirt?” James asks, and the silence dissolves into careful contemplation beside him. Aleks shrugs, shoulder bumping James’, and doesn't try to meet James’ gaze like he wouldn't before; before James died, and before they brought him back.

“It's the one you got in-”

“Maine, I know,” James interrupts, doesn't miss Aleks close his eyes softly and let his head drop a bit. “I remember that, I just want to know why you chose this one.”

“I don't know!” Aleks says, and his voice is loud enough to push James back into silence, to not push more than he already has. “I don't know, dude, okay?” This time softer, the hand at James’ knee being pulled back into Aleks’ own lap, curled into a gentle fist.

Brett and Asher are hovering somewhere in the doorway, waiting and waiting, and trying to act as though they aren't listening. It took James twenty minutes after he got dressed to properly stand up, Aleks’ hands holding onto him to keep him steady, then ten minutes to remember how to put one foot in front of the other without falling and hitting his face. Brett was watching outside the door, with an expression James couldn't decipher beyond a nagging voice saying, 'he knows’, in the back of James’ head. That, then ten minutes to walk over to the wall with Aleks’ arm around his waist so he could slide to the floor and give himself a moment to think about everything.

Aleks has always been a little too gentle beneath the built-up exterior of someone tough, someone with a harmless bite and an even more harmless bark. Beneath that, the previously dark, long hair that sat near his shoulders, and the array of black clothing, his heart had never been anything other than good. Good, like his fondness for Trevor, his habit of kissing Ein's nose when she was close enough, the look his face held when he didn't know anyone was watching.

James was, because on occasion he found it hard to not; Aleks has a nice side profile, all light hair and sideburns, and James would sit tiredly in the passenger seat and focus on the soft curve of his jaw, the way he would grind his teeth when he was thinking too hard. James never knew what was on his mind, but at stops at traffic lights, he'd stare at James beside him until the light flicked to green.

_I'm in love with you._

James swallows, flashes and near painful memories surfacing. A summer in California with Aleks dripping wet from slipping off a rock and landing in a secured pool of trapped ocean water, his smile bright and beautiful, and James’ heart caught in his throat. His brain has no business doing that; showing him things like this, where it's a little too obvious how he felt about Aleksandr all those years ago.

Maybe he is in love with him, which is a terrifying and warm thought all in one. He doesn't know if he's ever really considered it too much before, or if it settled in James’ heart early on and he just accepted it. Like, he caught one glimpse of Aleks and knew, but was content with being near him, and around him, and before James died, he was grateful for that life, for Aleks alive and happy next to him. He figured they had a house and they'd grow old together because that's what they'd both wanted for years, since they were teenagers still learning what all of this meant. Even adult James, previously turned twenty-seven James, wasn't too sure. But, he accepted it. Caught Aleks’ hand in his when he got the silent chance, squeezed it for comfort, and didn't look away when Aleks stared right at him.

“Ready to get going, kids?” Brett says, Asher in the space at his back. “Long trip home, might want to call that boy of yours.”

“Trevor?” James asks, nervous excitement attached to his question.

Aleks smiles at him for a second, catching his hand in his to stop James from trying to stand up. “Trevor, and Ein. I told him we'd be a few hours, but he's an impatient shit, he won't stop calling.”

Part of James almost doesn't want to see Trevor, can't stop thinking about the weeks stuck as a shadow in what was meant to be their forever home. Trevor, lonely but hopeful, upset but good company, and his hand reaching out to try and touch James sitting near him but not being able to. Those hours, staring at each other not knowing how to fix this.

Trevor, after an argument with Aleks, knees pulled up to his chest: “Was this a choice? The ghost thing?” James, nodding with a restrained, “yeah,” as Trevor watched sadly, replied, “Why would you do that, James?”

It made sense, it still makes sense, but James doesn't quite know how to say he'd rather see them like this than never see them again. He's known Aleks since the boy was sixteen and full of more angst and issues than he knew what to do with; that knowledge made it hard to leave him behind, taking one look at him staring at James’ body dead on a stretcher, and James couldn't go. He _couldn't_ . Even if it was warm and happy, he could hear Aleks’ voice and it was enough to tie him to earth, despite the death and the sadness and the telling. One blurred look at Aleks, _his_ Aleks, with a hand tugging at the ends on his hair, tears frozen in his eyes.

There was never a choice, really. It was either Aleks or it wasn't Aleks, and James has never really thought too much but it's obvious what he'd pick. Years and years of getting to see his Aleks, or what is possibly a world Aleks does not exist in anymore; there was never a choice, that's something James is certain of. Too many memories that trigger emotions of happiness and sadness and every emotion in between, but James treasures all of them because Aleks is there for every single one- the good, the bad, the ones he used to wish Aleks hadn't had to see.

It's always Aleks, which, okay, is a mildly terrifying thought post-death, and post-resurrection, but it's true. Achingly, heartbreakingly, so.

James has the sudden urge to brush Aleks’ hair from his forehead so he does, ignores the wide, curious look Aleks gives him. This is still new, getting used to breathing and moving and be able to touch him. But, he used to try to do this a million times before when his hand was never permanent enough to, always sliding through Aleks’ hair as a breeze and not as a presence, and James wanting to scream and hit stuff because it was so frustrating. So, so frustrating, to be so close but not be able to do what he wanted.

He and Aleks have always had that steady, slightly affectionate friendship, when it got late and James would card his hands through Aleks’ hair to help him sleep, and Aleks would curl pieces of James’ hair around his fingers just because he could. Because, James would let him. Because, he wasn't going to tell him no when Aleks was gentle, and soft, and they'd been friends for so long it'd be weird to not find some familiar comfort in it.

“Okay?” Brett asks, amused, and James jokingly snips at Aleks’ hair. He needs a haircut, despite the length reminding James of what he looked like when they met, only older and sadder.

“Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good,” James offers, which is a lie, _a lie, a lie, a lie._

He's pretty sure he's having a crisis, actually, but Aleks leans a little into the touch of James’ hand in his hair, and closes his eyes, and James can't bring himself to stop or look anywhere but at Aleks, relaxed and smiling for the first time in too long. So, James doesn't, smiles back with a fondness that is private, secret, way overdue.

“I'll drive,” Asher says, and Aleks perks up at that.

“Oh, dude, no, it's okay-” Aleks tries, the sorrow that had been embedded in his features inching away as James grabs at his shoulder.

“You've had a tough day, man,” Asher replies, smiles with one corner of his mouth and shakes his car keys in one hand. “Let me give you a ride. And get our James some better clothes.”

James hates how the shirt fits on him, fabric stretched and torn and faded from years of use and misuse, and he briefly catches his reflection in a move that has him frozen on the spot. It doesn't feel right, to be wearing it and thinking of Maine with Aleks, and how different things were because they were young and naive, and the world was tough, sure, but it was better. Better, meaning James was happy to stay in Maine and Trevor was happy with Ein, and Aleks laughed more times than James has ever heard before. He wonders if they'll ever get back to that, the steady push and pull of knowing how each other felt without having to ask.

Now, all James knows about Aleks is what his mind is willing to push forward when a memory is triggered by something. Most of them are there, now, but James knows for a fact that there are a few he hasn't seen yet, and Aleks is in all of them, small with long brown hair, crying and smiling, and James is growing a little impatient with this. It doesn't help that Aleks helps him get up, and the sensation of his fist wrapped around James’ lower arm hits James with deja vu of a situation his brain decides to hide from him. Maybe for the best, really, but James is far too curious for his own good; he wants to know, wants to wrack Aleks’ brain for every moment they've ever shared since they met.

“Home?” Aleks says, mouth unsure around the word like he hasn't said it in so long he's started to forget how it's supposed to sound.

“Yeah,” James replies, doesn't say what he wants to. Maybe this new resurrected James is more aware of certain things than he was before, because he feels a familiar swell of affection and fondness settle that he knows isn't intentional, but it's definitely common. Aleks does this to him; James would die for him, even if it meant not coming back. He's not quite sure what that means, exactly, that he'd give this all up for Aleks, but it means something. For now, and possibly always, it means he loves him.

.

Trevor's body is warm pressed to James’, a near suffocating hug as they stand in the doorway, both barely able to keep themselves standing. Aleks has a hand pressed gently into James’ back, warm and comforting, and grounding enough that James becomes aware of his feet planted solid on the ground.

James thinks about this, watches Trevor's mouth whisper a thank you towards Asher, and can't stop the tremor taking control of his hand. Aleks smiles at him across the room, just for him, private and secret but James has seen it a hundred times before. It means they're going to be okay, if they can disregard what's happened the last few weeks; this, Aleks, means James has another forty years at least to spend with this boy, who he'd be foolish to not admit he loves. He does love him, almost more than he thought possible.

Brett is on the phone, a hand cupping James’ shoulder for a moment as he passes by, and James catches Lindsey's voice on the other end of the call. In the center of the room, Asher and Trevor are standing close talking about something that has Trevor smiling, genuinely for the first time James can recall since he died. James has this, and them, and Aleks, and, God, he could get so used to this for the rest of whatever life he can look forward to.

He just hopes he isn't living off borrowed time.

.

The water circles the drain, cleaner than James had previously expected. He has stitches across the inner of his left thigh, behind his left ear, and his bones creak as he moves to try and wash his hair. He was lying in the morgue for weeks, his skin like wax as he lets the shampoo from his curls run down, soapy and smooth to the floor of the shower. Part of him wants to collapse to the floor, or drag himself out to Aleks to call his mum, tell her it's all a fluke and he's miraculously alive and he's sorry he didn't call her in all those months before he 'died.’ Another part, the one that keeps dragging him back to Aleks, wants him to wrap a towel around himself and find Aleks wherever he is.

James does neither of these things, because the water is warm against him, and he needs the time to think about everything. If he cries, he can blame it on getting something in his eye, but if he doesn't cry, he'll want to the second Aleks looks at him the way he does. James can't recall realising how much they love each other- as friends, always as friends- but it's so obvious now that he wants to invent time travel just so he can shake it into his past self. Or, prevent the accident that killed him; give him and his Aleks some time, to get used to a home together. They had some much time together, but it'll still never feel like enough.

It's gotten warmer in these hours he hasn't existed as a ghost, and something about it has him almost forgetting he's alive. Properly alive, not the afterlife aliveness of not being to touch anything without his hand slipping straight through it. Days and weeks of trying to comfort Aleks where James wouldn't be able to, and he'd be too exhausted to do anything other than stare at his own hands and try to wish himself back to life. With Aleks, pulling at tufts of his hair and sobbing with his teeth clenched, and James kneeling in front of him not able to do more than hover his hands nearby and hope it meant something.

His tattoos were gone then, his sleeve falling down and revealing nothing but blank skin. The afterlife is a blank slate, maybe, literally. Now, James traces along them and blinks water, or perhaps tears, from his eyes as he does, letting himself sway slightly before snapping back to reality. His tattoos are here, despite the scars and parts of his skin where he was injured in the crash that killed him. They look rough, but not unfixable, just a weird thing to see after having gotten used to them. They've always kinda been there, even when they weren't, and James lets his finger drift across a deep scar that's rendered part of his tattoo unseeable. It's upsetting to see, a little- to see all the after effects of the crash, and how hard it is to recognise parts of himself that he used to have no trouble with.

A knock on the door startles him, a small jiggle of the doorknob, and James lifts his head with his eyes closed towards the stream of water. It's nice, the warmth of it, and how it reminds him of before. And, God, all of this is a lot to ingest and he's really, really glad he hasn't started to properly freak out yet because that would suck like, a lot and-

“You need any help?” Trevor asks on the other side of the door, and there's a gentle edge in his voice. “I can turn off the tap if you need.”

“I've got it,” James says, feels useless for forgetting briefly that he could do that. More honestly, he'd rather sit in this shower for another hour than try and face his friends, and try to understand how all of this is possible when he literally fucking dead, as in saw his dead body and got invited to a heaven he decided to skip out on because of Aleksandr. “I'll see you in a sec.”

Trevor is still outside the door as though he's trying to think of something to say, then let's the door handle go and his footsteps descend down the hallway towards his room. They're trying to help, James knows, and they've been mourning him for all those weeks he lived as a ghost, seeing how badly they took everything and how much he almost fucked them up because he died. Not his fault, but he's never been too good at guilt, never been too good at knowing he wasn't the problem even if he wasn't. Bottom-line, accidental death aside, he got in that crash and he died and his friends were left behind to mourn him. He kinda did that, even if it was done indirectly.

James turns off the water, the last remaining bits dripping down into the drain, and he stands there cold for longer than he should. It takes three minutes for him to inhale deeply and exit the shower, ignoring his reflection in the mirror because the sight of his scars, his bruises, and his burns, makes him feel sick beyond belief. It all seems so, so wrong, and he doesn't know what to do about it other than dry himself off and get changed, and get too caught up on his ruined tattoos.

 _It's okay,_ he tells himself, knows deep down his upset over his tattoos is really him finding a more suitable outlet for the shock of dying. His tattoos are ruined, he's all bruised and scarred and stitched up, like a kid's beloved bear or God's sick science project, and he's allowed to be upset about that. He should be, because anyone who dies shouldn't have to not cry over dying, and the resurrection part is the last straw that broke the camel's back, or however that saying goes.

The worst- and he knows this, more than he is certain he knows about anything else- is those weeks, trapped in his house and the land around it, being forced to third wheel his two best friends and his dog. The hours of sitting in the corner dead as they argued and shouted and cried, and only being able to watch because he was physically incapable of doing much else. The days sitting next to Aleks holding his breath and praying for the day Aleks would turn to his side and be able to see him, and instead having to watch him mourn; staring blank at a wall for hours, or crying as quietly as he could, or going through James’ things and having _that_ look on his face. The one that breaks James’ heart every time he sees it.

Worse, the small moments where Aleks would say something and Trevor would watch a helpless James try and comfort him. All those times, for the most part, other than the times he got too upset and would leave, would ignore Trevor's curious glance and go anywhere that wasn't listening to an Aleks he couldn't touch cry over missing him. He wanted to stand on something and yell, “I'm right here! I'm alive! Aleksandr, I'm here!,” despite knowing it wouldn't work. Aleks couldn't see him because Aleks doesn't believe in ghosts or afterlifes, and Trevor tried to convince him but it'll never work, it'll never-

_I'm sorry. About James. That you loved him and he-_

James isn't certain about a lot, but he knows he needs to find Aleks and they need to talk about all of this before James has a breakdown. There's so much he has to tell him, distant memories and feelings that are useless trapped inside; he keeps thinking of Maine, for some reason. He's not even sure why but it was years ago, and it was he and Aleks, and he doesn't know if it's at all important to remember how he felt on that particular day but he does. All of it- including Aleks’ laughter barely contained in his mouth, James watching him and knowing something that present-day James is trying to figure out.

Helplessly so, but trying nonetheless.

He gets dressed in the clothes Aleks offered him, which is the pair of jeans Aleks gave him at the morgue, and an old grey zip-up hoodie from 2013. It fits, still, even though it's been so long since he first got it. It feels as though he's had it forever, which is maybe how he feels about Aleks, too, but less in the way of nostalgic associated with his old self and more in the way that to James, Aleks has existed in his life for almost as far back as he can remember. Nine years is an awful long time, but he wouldn't take back any of it if he had to. He's had Aleks for nine years and this hoodie for five, and he knows which one made him stay around after he died.

That wasn't a choice, the staying. Every time he thinks about it, he has to remind himself of that. Heaven, a happy afterlife with whatever waited for him, wasn't an option because Aleks couldn't follow, and because Aleks is here and James loves him. Not for it- the loyalty, the constant going anywhere with James who found it so hard to stay even in the places he was happy- but it's a fairly good reason. James loves Aleks because Aleks is Aleks, and he laughs and James feels warm and happy, and they've known each other for so long that despite the idea of soulmates being laughable, it's a hell of a lot like that.

If heaven isn't optional, which he can't see why it would be, then maybe his love for Aleks is what let him stay around; it's why he's here right now, alive, and Aleks is in the house in a nearby room waiting for him.

The doorknob in his hand has never felt heavier, his clumsy hand in the process of getting used to touch again twisting it around before finally able to pull the door open. The hallway is a lot clearer than the bathroom, steam filling the small room as James shuts the door on it and stands in the hall, hair only part way dry around his shoulders. His feet take a moment to begin to move, relearning from muscle memory how they're supposed to carry him to his room, where he is hoping Aleks is.

Aleks is kneeling, his hands full with whatever of his possessions he left in James’ room. There's clothes and bedding he was using in those weeks after James died, and James doesn't know what to say about it all when he sees. So, he stands in the doorway and leans against the frame, thinks about how much time he spent in here when he was dead only able to watch Aleks mourn or sleep. Even though it was barely three hours ago that he was doing that, it almost feels as though he's been alive for much longer. Technically, he kind of was, as a ghost, but exhaustion is setting in in a way that makes his body seem like it's been awake for hours and hours now.

“What are you doing?” he says, partly against his will. He's nervous, standing there unsure of what to do with his hands and his face and his body.

“Moving my shit,” Aleks replies, and his nonchalance barely wins out over the anxiety echoing his words. “Figured you might want your room back, yeah?”

By Aleks’ feet, the Maine shirt is wrinkled on the floor. James can't remember leaving it there, which means Aleks probably took it and accidentally left it where it is, for whatever reason James doesn't know. But, it's very obviously there, and James’ heart tightens with an emotion he can't describe when he sees it, thinks about that day in the shop with Aleks. It shouldn't be that important, really, but it is so much so that its relevance is hard to ignore or just tuck into the back of his mind.

“You don't have to,” James tries, and Aleks’ hands stumble around the clothes they're holding. “Move your stuff, I mean. You could- you could leave it all here, if you want to. Up to you, but I don't mind.”

“What?”

This is harder than James thought it was going to be, Aleks’ voice soft and confused, and his eyes gentle as he looks up. His gaze drifts slightly, but manages to meet James’ for long enough for him that James can see the exact moment he realises. The moment his eyebrows narrow down in further confusion even though he understands, and James wants to explain in a way that won't make his words stumble too much. _I love you_ , he wants to say. Or, _I'm sorry I died and you're super interested in the paranormal but don't believe in it and didn't get to see me when I was dead_ . Or, _please stay here in my room for as long as you like, I'm literally never going to ask you to leave, just so you know._

Instead, he inhales, and releases these words in a breath: “We can share, if you want. It's not a big deal, Aleksandr.”

“Not a big deal?” Aleks echoes, a disbelieving laugh hidden in his words. “Jesus Christ, James.”

“What?” James says, and it's his turn to play with his hands and try to figure out what's being said.

“You know you've been dead for, what? Almost three weeks now? And now you're back, we're just going to pretend none of that happened and we can… Fucking share rooms and watch TV, and not talk about the fact you died and I spent the whole time you were gone mourning you. In your room. Which is why all my things are in here, so, like, what the fuck.” Aleks lets his voice fade into silence as he adds: “Seriously, James.”

“The Maine shirt, Aleksandr,” James says, and Aleks stills at the sudden change in conversation topic. “Why that one?”

“Why did _I_ bring it?” Aleks asks, a finger pressed into his chest. “Why did you fucking keep it?”

James knows why, but his mind doesn't make the connection to his mouth, his hands stalling for him. It's a small distraction that Aleks easily picks up on, and his expression fades to nothing; it's neutral, which James doesn't prefer, because it means he's thinking about all of this. James should kill two birds with one stone, bite the bullet and tell Aleks he loves him so he can get that and his not being able to get Maine out of head all at once, but he can't. His mouth hesitates around 'I’ and 'love’ and 'you’, and he stares at the floor for long enough to make the silence too telling.

“A hypothesis,” Aleks says, and James catches him in the corner of his eye grabbing the Maine shirt. “You kept it, and I remember it, because we're both dumbasses who don't want to say why we like it. We both know… I think?” He glances up at James, nervous but confident. “In that shop was when I really realised that, you know. I love you. I always kinda knew, but that's when I really knew. Your turn,” he finishes, and tosses the shirt at James.

James, stunned, barely manages to catch it before meeting the barely contained anxiety in Aleks’ face. “I kept it,” James manages, and wants to kick himself for not being able to just say what he wants. “You know why, why are you making me say this?”

“I want to hear you say it.” And, okay, James can't argue with that.

“I love you,” James says, his throat trying to catch the words so he can swallow them before it's too late to let them go. It's too late, and Aleks smiles weakly at the floor, shy. “This shirt is- it's dumb, Aleksandr. Fucking dumb. I kept it for the same reason you brought it to me when I woke up. We're both sentimental bitches, alright?”

The look on Aleks’ face as his attention suddenly snaps to James pulls tears from James’ eyes against his will. He starts to wonder if it's something he said, but Aleks cuts him off.

“'Sentimental bitches?’”

“I'm quoting you, don't call me out on this,” James strains, pretends he doesn't see Aleks raise his hand to wipe at his face. “I heard you, that whole time. I heard you say that, and you're right, but you're only right because you're as bad as I am.”

“You died.”

James inhales too deep, his body gasping to keep everything else at bay. He's not going to cry, because if he was going to, he'd have done that in the shower instead of right in front of Aleks, his best friend, who he loves and who in turn loves him. It's strange to think back on those weeks spent as a ghost, and how utterly alive James felt, helplessly, every time Aleks said his name. _James, James, James_ , like a whispered prayer, and James so caught up in it he'd forget his hands would slip instead of touch when he went to spend his fingers through Aleks’ moonlit hair.

Some moments, Aleks would breathe too shuddery, and James could do nothing but watch him knowing what was about to come. The crying and hitting inanimate objects, and staring right through James as if he wasn't there. That hurt, stun in a way it shouldn't have because James was a ghost and really, really incapable of feeling physical pain. But, Aleks would watch the exact place James hovered in sometimes, and James would feel like he'd been shot, knowing Aleks’ gaze was passing right through him. For as long as he lives, James will never forget what that felt like.

“I know.”

“You fucking _died_.”

“I _know_.”

Aleks pulls himself up off the ground, and his things are still scattered around the empty interior of James’ room he never got to use. Aleks did, every night, and that knowledge stings in a way that has James grinding his teeth to keep from doing or saying anything, but Aleks looks at him with and that self control he was working on disappears.

Aleks is a few steps away, standing like he doesn't know what to do with his body, and James walks slowly over to him, let's his hand grab softly at Aleks’ jaw to lift his head. Staring so close, knowing he can see back, is too reminiscent of days spent dead, but James keeps watching even though it hurts. Aleks is unsure, so focused on James that he has barely moved in all the time since James almost completely closed the distance between them.

“Is this the part where you kiss me?” Aleks says, but his voice is quiet and concealed in humour he forces. Like, maybe he's misread the situation and he can brush it off by pretending this was all a joke, only a joke, as if James isn't close enough for him to kiss if he wanted. He could, if he pressed forward a little and tilted his head and curved his body against James’, and the thought is enough to make James go red.

He uses his leverage on Aleks’ jawline, fingers pressing soft into his cheek, to angle his head, and Aleks jaw tightens under James’ hand when James kisses him. A brief, fleeting moment passes where the lack of Aleks’ presence in the kiss disappears, Aleks’ lips finally kissing back hesitantly against James’, shaking, cold hands cupping James’ elbows. It lasts all but ten seconds before Aleks pulls away slowly, brushes his nose against James’ with a laugh that goes straight to James’ heart. _I'm in love with you_ , he thinks, and allows Aleks to silence his laughter against his mouth.

Aleks carefully falls from James’ lips with a small whine, that sounds more like a sob when James replays it in his mind. Both his hands settle on Aleks’ face, bring him back in for a kiss to quiet his tears, and Aleks pushes back against James despite the obvious beginning of tears. Naturally, mid-kiss, James finds his own sobs hard to swallow, and Aleks separates from him to lean his forehead to James’ shoulder. He laughs, quietly, muffled in the fabric of James’ hoodie, and James lets his head fall to Aleks’ shoulder in return, chokes the 'I’m in love with you’ he wants to say because it doesn't feel like the right time.

 _“Ya ne mogu zhit’ bez tebya,”_ Aleks says, and James doesn't need to ask for a translation to know what the words mean.

“Yeah,” he whispers, thinks about how warm Aleks is, and how right not feels to have him so close. “Me too.”

.

Sunrise comes much earlier than James remembers, Aleks tucked against his side with the light streaming through the windows and framing them in orange light. Aleks is barely awake, his hands in James’ lap as James plays with them, twists the ring Aleks has a few times and let's himself think too much about too little. He turns to look at Aleks, who is trying not to collapse with his head against James’ shoulder, and brushes some of his fringe from his face as Aleks opens his eyes towards him.

He's red-faced from crying but he seems years younger in the early sunlight, a small smile crinkling at one corner of his mouth. James kisses him on the forehead, light and barely there but Aleks leans into it, more awake when James shifts his attention to Aleks’ lips.

“Hey,” Aleks mutters, and smiles more as James kisses him, brief but sweet.

James rests his forehead against Aleks’, who lifts a hand to play with James’ hair, and the heat of Aleks by his side is nice. Nice, like, he never thought they'd ever get to do this, but he's grateful for this, and for the fact he's alive and Aleks is too, and they can do this now. Happiness is slightly familiar by now, but this new happiness settling in is different, more sure of itself and its place. Somehow, even before Maine, James always knew this would happen. The dying came a little out of nowhere, but being with Aleks has never been anything but right.

“It's always been you, you know,” James says, and Aleks’ fingers twirl blindly at the hair at the side of James’ head.

“Yet you made me wait all this time?” Aleks scoffs, but there's nothing malicious in his words.

“I wanted to be sure.”

James knows if Aleks’ eyes were open, he'd be rolling them. Instead, he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat, and his other hand finds James’ to intertwine their fingers together loosely. James accepts it, squeezes it as he moves Aleks’ hand to his mouth to kiss along his knuckles, let's the silence say what he won't just yet. It takes Aleks a moment, before he opens his eyes and moves back to look at James, subtle understanding in his features and his hand in James’ falling carefully back to his side.

“Oh,” he whispers, and James’ eyes rest on the oranges and pinks of sunrise painted against Aleks and the wall they're leaning on. It's pretty, soft and nice, and James offers a small smile that Aleks makes back, despite his shaking hands.

“Can you guys be like, less gay over there?” a voice asks, and James and Aleks both focus on Trevor trying to sleep on the other side of the room, Ein resting against him.

“Shut the fuck up, Trevor!”

Aleks laughs softly at Trevor's wounded pride, and Ein wags her tail at the sound. James watches Aleks, his heart skipping more beats than is probably healthy or normal, and he reaches a hand to brush again at Aleks’ hair. James thinks about this time yesterday, lying dead on a morgue table and Aleks trying to keep his faith while mourning, and this moment is more surreal than it was before. Surreal, but better than everything else in a way James doesn't know if he could ever describe. Just, grateful and happy and in-

“I'm in love with you,” he tells Aleks, and Aleks’ smiles at him, eyes tired but loving.

“Yeah, James,” he says, the expression on his face hard to decipher but torn between affection and upset. James rules it down to his having been dead, and how this doesn't feel like it's real or possible but it is, and smiles watery as Aleks says, “ _Ya ne mogu zhit’ bez tebya.”_

This, he hopes, is permanent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ♡.
> 
>  _ya ne mogu zhit’ bez tebya -_ i'm in love with you / i can not live without you.


End file.
